


3 Years, 4 Months, 12 Days

by AL13



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, PTSD, Post Season 3, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:28:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AL13/pseuds/AL13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey had still been terrified to admit that he was in fact in a relationship with Ian Gallagher. A fight was sparked between them that had Ian fleeing to the army. He was honorably discharged after three years due to an injury that prevented him from continuing to participate in combat. He had been shot in the back and was paralyzed from the waist down.</p>
<p>The war changed Ian drastically, and Mickey is forced to take responsibility. Their relationship is bumpy as they work to improve things between them and help Ian walk again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> sooo, restarting this fic. It's ten times better than before and I'm really happy with it. I've got the first two chapters rewritten, but it could take me a week or longer for each chapter.

It had been three years. Three years, four months and twelve days, if you were technical. That was what Mickey was told at least, because he had no reason to concern himself with the statistics. Ian was due back in Chicago in shortly less than a year and Mickey had tried to convince himself that he didn't care. No matter how many guys he fucked or how much stupid shit he did to get thrown in jail for a couple months, his attempts to erase the redhead from his memory failed to prove effective. Mickey spent so much time in a jail cell, that he didn't know why he bothered to get out; more often than not, he ended up right back in -  _like father like son_. He knew that a part of him hoped that Ian would be there one of those times he strolled out of the double doors of that brick building - he never was. And he knew that thought was stupid to begin with, and it was gone from his mind after the first year Ian had left; it was clear he wasn't coming back. 

The one good thing about jail according to Mickey, was that he could without a doubt, _always_ get laid. He didn't bottom for any of the guys in there, because then he would seem  _weak_. He would also be reminded of the memory of Ian that constantly burned in his mind. His cellmate though, was a small kid, and he reminded him of Ian when they'd first met - skinny and pale, except the guy had brown hair instead of red, and not nearly as hot. Mickey had the kid scared - well, at first - and he became property of Mickey in the joint, and the only bruises left on his fragile skin were inflicted by the Milkovich. His name was Sean, and on occasion, he let the kid fuck him, because he  ~~trusted him~~  didn't have to worry about him blabbing; Sean knew he'd kill him. He told Sean about Ian. And finally, he had a  _friend_. As soon as Mickey's ten months were up, he dropped all contact with him. And then he was right back to being alone. Not for long.

 

Mickey was sentenced to six months when he'd ended up in jail at the two years and six months mark, but he'd ended up there for ten instead for bad behavior. One more for fighting, two for punching a cop and an additional for stealing a knife from the kitchen - Sean called him an idiot, but his opinion didn't matter much, Mickey was still counting the days until Ian would be back. When he was finally released, it was the end of April and Mandy wasn't there to pick him up, as per usual. She'd given up on him after the first couple of times; she still called,but it wasn't the same - the sibling bond between them had broken. It reminded Mickey of how no one bothered to throw Terry a party when he got out - more likely than not he'd end up locked up again before the night was over.  _Like father like son_.

Mickey took a three hour bus drive back to Chicago, and ended up downtown, which resulted in him being forced to walk the remaining ten miles. He knew that he'd walk right past the Gallagher house, he'd gotten used to the route home from the same bus stop. He did it with purpose each time, attempting to scope out the house for any sign that Ian was home early - Mandy would tell him if her favorite redhead was dead. When he approached the Gallagher house from the opposite side of the street, there seemed to be quite the crowd. There were a variety of people there - Kev and V, random people from the neighborhood, some rich looking people and men in uniform - it didn't click in Mickey's mind. So he stood with his arms crossed and entered defense mod as he waited to see what the fuss was concerning. Ian wasn't due back for eight months yet - eight month and nineteen days - so he shouldn't have cared. He couldn't seem to convince himself to look away though.

A Honda pulled up outside of their house, and the bustle seemed to intensify - the car was a mess, probably one of the few vehicles they could afford. Lip, Fiona and Mandy filed out quickly and Mickey could not wrap his head around why they were all  _there,_  especially his fucking sister. His nerves shot sky high. Mandy...the party...Ian. It was too soon, something was wrong, he fucking  _knew_  something was wrong. He knew Gallagher was an idiot for enlisting. They all gathered around the passenger door and Mickey tapped his foot impatiently while he waited to see if it really was Ian that everyone was there for. When the rusty brown door was pulled open though, it didn't look like the same Ian that had left; he was too thin, the Ian he knew always packed muscle, and his hair lacked all shine to it - he looked exhausted.

Ian made no move to get out of the car, and he stared emotionlessly at the people that surrounded him; they all still wore smiles, as if something  _wasn't_  obviously wrong with the man in the car. Lip dipped down and hefted his brother out of his seat; he secured his arms around him and held him bridal style, with an arm beneath his knees and the other upholding his torso. The redhead - was it even red anymore, or was it grey? - wrapped his arms limply around Lip, and his arms tightened when Lip attempted to set him in the wheelchair Mickey had yet to notice; he'd been too worried about Ian. So the blonde kept a hold of his brother - Ian looked  _scared_  - and turned to walk up the path.

Mickey ran then, as fast as he could. He didn't stop until he'd made it the few blocks home and collapsed against the wall as soon as he was locked in his room. His hands dug desperately at his chest, as if that could make the aching in his heart go away and keep the tears from  _burning_. Gallagher was supposed to come back  _healthy_  - he was lucky to come home alive.


	2. 4 Years and I'm Still not Over You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went from a 1000 word chapter to over 4000 words and I am proud of myself for that. It's gonna take longer now for me to update because this was all I've got written thus far. Things might start to veer off from the original because I'm trying to add some more plot to it.

Mandy went to Mickey when she finally came home - she spent a full two days at the Gallagher house. She knocked tentatively on his bedroom door and the  _'shut the fuck up'_ cardboard sign glared at her. Mickey knew it was her; no one else would care to bother him - his presence was rarely noticed among the other Milkovich's. And when he gave her no response, she walked in anyways, just as he knew she would. Her eyes were puffy and her hair was unkempt; he hadn't seen her so distressed since the weeks that followed Ian's departure.

She silently curled up on his bed, resting her head in Mickey's lap. He gently brushed a hand through the dark hair that matched his own in color, but was much smoother and was washed regularly. He didn't say anything as she cried, and attempted to offer what little comfort he was capable of providing. He could not be sure if she wanted to talk, so he stayed silent and held her until she spoke up on her own time. It felt like they'd been there for hours before her voice reverberated through the room, ripping apart the silence that had settled comfortably among them. "He's back." Her voice was wrecked, and she needed water, but Mickey was not about to move; she needed him. "He's hurt Mick... he got shot."

Mickey listened keenly and each word horrified him. "He was shot in the back and now he can't walk," she spoke hastily and sparsely stopped to take a breath. "I don't understand any of it, but he's not the same Ian." Mickey pulled her closer and rocked his sister back and forth,  _back and forth_. Mandy clung to him as more tears were shed and Mickey was sure he needed the comfort just as much as she did. Each of her words were stuttered and Mickey was tempted to order her to just  _shut up_ , because he hated having to listen to the evident pain in her words. "He can walk, if he'd just go to physical therapy. But he's so damn stubborn."

Boy did Mickey know that; it was an understatement really. Mandy's talking ceased and her cries seemed to get even louder as it was the only sound that resounded throughout the cluttered room. She only went quiet when she'd finally cried herself to sleep. Mickey held her for a short while longer before easing her off his lap. He rested her head gently on his pillow and covered her with his blankets. He left a glass of on the bedside table for when she woke up and her throat keened for liquid. Mickey knew that he wasn't always the best person, but he would  _always_ take care of his sister.

∫∫∫

They didn't speak for the following week and Mandy spent the bulk of her time with Ian, or more likely, the other five Gallagher siblings. He nearly made a joke about it just being an excuse to see Lip, but he knew that Ian was far more important to Mandy than the arrogant prick. So he didn't question it when she'd come home late at night in tears - at least he didn't have to worry about her being hurt by some asshole. Ian would never her her, no on purpose, and he definitely wasn't an asshole. Mickey was sure that he was the only one that noticed her late night endeavors, and that was mostly due to his lack of sleep at night - he rarely slept since Ian had arrived home. And one night, Mandy drifted into his room rather then her own.

Mandy was tough, and she could easily leave a guy very bruised, but there were instances when she simply needed the comfort of her big brother. Mickey and Mandy were the closest in age, so Mickey had easily taken up the role as her guardian, because neither of their parents had never been present as actual caretakers. While all of the Milkovich's would run off to abuse any guy that upset their youngest sibling, Mickey was the one that she went to when more serious emotions arose. "Rough day?" Mickey asked as his arms automatically wrapped around her, securing her to his chest.

"He won't talk, he barely moves and it's hell to get him to eat or drink  _anything_. He may have gotten home alive, but at this rate, he'll end up killing himself Mickey. I can't stand it."

"Shh." Mandy had been worked up just talking about the redhead, and she had gripped Mickey's shirt tight enough that he could feel the fabric stretch across his abdomen. "Things will be okay." He whispered more reassurances in her ear as she slowly relaxed and sleep began to overcome her sense; she was always quick to sleep after crying, especially after such an emotional day - or week. Mandy was shattered and Mickey couldn't be sure how long it had been since she had gotten any rest - probably days.

"Can you come with me tomorrow?" Mickey barely caught the words, and he considered for a moment that maybe she hadn't wanted him to hear. The female Milkovich rarely showed any signs of weakness - she was similar to Mickey in that aspect - for fear of being reprimanded. Mickey would never chide her for such things, but with Terry as their father, being weak was not approved in their household.

"Of course." He left it at that and went silent, allowing her to sleep, coiled up in the protective arms of her big brother.

∫∫∫

"Thanks for coming Mickey." Mandy flashed him a minuscule smile, which he was quick to reciprocate, although the smiles were immediately washed from their faces; this was not a happy occasion. Mickey could tell that her words were genuine, and they meant much more than a simple  _thank you._  He could see how relieved she was not to have to explains things to him; that it wasn't necessary to announce that she  _needed_ him.

"Don't mention it." There were plenty of other smart ass comments he could have tossed her way, but he had made the decision the moment she'd asked him to join her, to be respectful of her feelings. Mandy tensed as they stepped onto the porch and she reached out to carefully tap her knuckles against the pale blue, chipped door. Shouts sounded inside and after a few seconds of scrambling around, Fiona greeted them with a wary smile - it appeared forced.

"I told you Mandy, there's no need for you to knock. Our door is always open. We love having you here.  _Ian_ loves having you here." Mandy shrugged and took a few steps inside as the eldest Gallagher retreated into the house. "Ah Mickey...good to see you."

"He's here for support," Mandy explained at Fiona's confused glances. The only one that knew of Mickey's connections to Ian was Lip, that was if he hadn't told anyone - it didn't seem as though he had, surely Fiona and Mandy would have been the first people he shared it with.

She nodded in understanding. "Yes, this has been hard on everyone. It's good of you to look out for your sister. You're welcome here anytime as well Mickey. Your support is much appreciated." She clasped her hands together and exhaled. "Well, you know where Ian is, so go on up. I'm making lunch. Should be ready in half an hour. Take your time."

"Thanks Fiona." Mandy gave the other a grateful hug, and Mickey wondered when his sister had become so invested with the family of Gallagher's. She hauled herself away from the comforting embrace of Ian's older sister and motioned for Mickey to follow her. They climbed the untidy stairwell, and Mickey nearly tripped over clothes strewn on the steps and his feet became tangled in t-shirt, pants and even a pair of underwear. He sniffed himself subtly once he reached the top of the staircase - he had showered and scrutinized over what to wear, and with the way he was sweating, he worried that the was already a foul-smelling mess.

Mickey sauntered over to the door that led to the room that the middle Gallagher shared with Liam and Carl - Liam had long outgrown his kiddy bed and it had since been replaced by a twin-sized mattress shoved on the floor in the corner of the too crowded room. Mandy had already begun a one-sided conversation with the redhead who seemed to be more fascinated with the wall than her. Ian's appearance was still to breathtakingly different in the eyes of the set of Milkovich's.

Seeing Ian made Mickey want to turn the other way and run as far as his feet would carry him, but he reminded himself that he was there for  _Mandy._ He could suffer through it for her, and he allowed his feet to remain planted firmly on the ground. Ian was so different; Mickey could see the blank gaze in his eyes and it was obvious that Mandy's audience wasn't paying her any attention. In Ian's hand was a stress ball - the logo of a hospital was peeling off, along with the purple paint - and he squeezed slowly while his eyes fixated ahead of him. Mandy was faced away from the wounded man that lay immobile in bed, with her shoulders slumped. She picked at the frayed edges of an ashen blue blanket that they both sat a top of. Mickey leaned against the bunk bed near the door and attempted to distract himself by analyzing his sister's demeanor and promptly avoiding Ian.

She shifted slowly towards Ian and brought one leg onto the bed, bending it so that she could sit comfortably. "Hey shit head," she smiled softly as she stared at her best friend's blank face. Her casualness was an obvious plot to distract from her overwhelming agony. "How are you feeling?" Mickey pondered if that was how they interacted during each of her visits; no wonder she was always heartbroken if each conversation consisted of no response from her companion. "I-I'm," her voice cracked and she was quick to wipe her eyes as they threatened to water; she would  _not_ show weakness, she would be strong in front of Ian. "I'm doing great." It was a blatant lie, but she still put on a smile and attempted to play make-believe. "Mickey came with me today. He's been a really great brother."

Her words caused Mickey's face to light up as he relaxed, but only slightly - he was doing  _something_ right. He was a good brother, and that was more than any of the other Milkovich's could say about themselves. "He's been a lazy bum anyways," she chuckled lightly, the words coming out as a simple breathy laugh. "I had to come up with an excuse to drag him out of the house. Someone's gotta take care of him." Mandy reached her hand out to caress Ian's face. His grip on the ball faltered, and his eyes frantically searched the room - as if to assure Mandy hadn't lied - and when he caught sight of his ex-lover, his attention was right back on the wall in front of him. "Mickey spends so much time taking care of everyone else. I thought it was time for a change."

Mickey followed Ian's gaze to that  _stupid_ wall, the one that Liam's bed was pressed against. While he knew that that wasn't truly what the Gallagher was focusing on - he was more likely spacing out, ignoring everything surrounding him - he couldn't help but search for what might be so intriguing. The once white wall had faded to a sickly, off-putting shade of yellow. Mickey recalled reading - because that was all for him to do in the confines of the brick-walled jail building - about how nicotine had the ability to cause walls, or more specifically the paint, to transform to that same putrid color. He was sure that the walls in his own home looked just as disgusting, if not worse with the amount of cigarettes his family smoked.

"He doesn't want to hear about how pathetic your brother is." Mickey redirected his own attention back to Mandy as she continued to detail exactly  _how_ lazy he'd been over the weeks. He didn't really want Ian to know that he couldn't do shit, although it was unlikely that he was paying any attention. "You don't want to bore him." Mickey noticed Ian's sharp intake of breath when he registered that it was no longer Mandy's voice that filtered through his ears, but her brother.

It was hard for Mickey not to take not of ever detail of the room and the people in it as an unsettling silence fell upon them. He watched Ian's right hand - the one that was free of the stress ball - tap against his thigh. He witnessed Mandy sigh, no doubt frustrated with the incompetence of her idiot brother. The curtains that kept the sun from beaming in through the window were broken, a light bulb was burned out, and the clock on Ian's dresser read 6:10 p.m. when in reality it was just before noon. It was the little things - things that always seemed so insignificant - that held the biggest burden.

"Fuckface. Doctor said it would be good to talk to him. Treat him like an  _actual_ human being." Mandy sneered at him and proceeded to reach to the floor for something to throw at him. Her hand encountered a dirty sock scrunched up on the stain-covered carpet and it was chucked in Mickey's direction.

"Not even close," he chuckled when it landed on the bunk bed instead of hitting him. "Just hurry up. This shit is gay." Ian took note of the casual sibling banter that passed between them so easily, and it was torture to his ears. "This stupid talking shit doesn't seem to be helping anyways."

Both Mandy and Mickey had veered their attention to Ian, and Mickey watched as he tensed. The purple stress ball was trapped in his clenched fist and the only sign that it hadn't escaped his grasp was the small bit that stuck out between his index finger and thumb. Tears threatened to escape, and it killed Mickey to see his ex-boyfriend-or-whatever so distraught. Ian's blank gaze ahead morphed into a glare and he looked like he would combust into a fire that threatened to consume them all. "Finish up this pity party so we can go." He needed out of there, because the oxygen seemed to be escaping the room as the tension escalated and only fueled Ian's flames.

Ian's struggle to hold back tears became more noticeable as it became tougher for him to refrain. He released the stress ball, his hand falling limp as his teeth clamped onto his lip and he finally allowed the tears to burst from his eyes. "Shit," Mandy sighed. She glared back at her brother, but then softened immediately; Mickey hadn't done anything - not that she knew of anyways. "Let's give him some privacy." She nodded towards the door and Mickey left the room without question; he wouldn't allow himself to continue to harm the redhead, even unintentionally.

The Gallagher's were all seated at the kitchen table, chewing on the club sandwiches Fiona had whipped up for lunch - there were two extra plates on the counter for Mandy and Mickey. "Down so early?" Fiona questioned. They'd been up there for nearly forty-five minutes, which was quite awhile according to Mickey. He was inquisitive as to how much time his sister often spent in that overcrowded room on a daily basis. Surely far too long for her own well-being.

"Ian got upset," Mandy lamented. She let her head flop down and her long dark brown hair slumped over her shoulders. "I figured it was best to leave. Hes just never started crying out of nowhere... I never get  _any_ reaction out of him. What could I have done wrong?" She sat down beside Fiona, who was quick to whisper comforting words between them, like secrets whizzing from their lips -  _'It's not your fault. He's in a tough place.'_ Mickey didn't pay much attention to anything aside from the skeptical glances Lip continuously threw his way; he caught each one and threw a glare back in return.

"I'll be outside Mandy. I need some air." The twenty-three-year-old Milkovich made his exit out the back door. Once in the fresh, crisp air, he leaned back against the house. The green siding dug into his back, causing him slight discomfort and he shifted uncomfortably. It was far better than the tension that surrounded them all inside, making the already cramped house feel like even more of a tight fit and caused him to feel claustrophobic. He floundered in his pocket for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes; seeing Ian had caused him great distress, and he felt a weight being added to his being - he was sure he'd gained at least ten pounds. He scrubbed at his eyes and brought the nicotine filled stick to his lips as he stared out at the Gallagher's back yard. He noticed that the old-school van was still parked out back, likely in the same spot it had always been - he was sure it had long since been robbed of its parts - and a broken down swing set that he'd never seen before - probably stolen. Nothing seemed to have changed much at all, aside from the various garbage and junk - such as an ax, three trash cans, and a stroller. They were still the same poor and messy slobs he'd always known. It was a relief.

His head snapped towards the door as he heard the tell tale creak as it was pushed open. Lip stepped out of the house and stood beside the shorter man. "You upset him," the smartass stated simply; Mickey knew he was right. "You gonna make the pain worth his time?" Lip lit his own cigarette that had been stored behind his ear. "It's best for both of you if you leave right now if you don't have plans to stick around for him. He needs support."

"I don't think I'm going anywhere." The thought of how different Ian was, frightened him, but he was sure he could no longer abandon the Gallagher, not with Ian's current situation. He couldn't imagine how destroyed they'd both be if there was a repeat of what happened between them over three years ago. He was sure he wasn't capable of staying away for too long without causing himself an equal amount of pain. "It's just gonna take some getting used to. This is quite a change." Boy was that an understatement.

"It took all of us a while to get used to this." He motioned around them to emphasize that their entire lives had been changed by the tragedy. "The knowledge that Ian was shot was horrifying in itself - we didn't even know if he'd live at first; we weren't told much - but he was alive so we were relieved.  _Then_ we learned he couldn't walk, and that was another story. That changed everything. It was horrible. Each of us have had some sort of melt down throughout the last four months." Mickey couldn't understand why Lip was explaining it to him. Perhaps to make him feel guilty, or make his own feelings seem unimportant because he hadn't been there to witness the suffering. "My point Mickey, is that it would be unfair if you were expected to adjust automatically to all of this." That definitely wasn't what he'd expected. "All of us had plenty of time. As long as you don't treat him like he's  _nothing_ , then I'll trust that you'll do the right thing."

Mickey nodded slowly as he tried to allow Lip's words ink in so that he could translate the gibberish he'd heard. "I'm not going anywhere." He still hated himself for driving Ian off before; he wouldn't let himself do it a second time. "Let Mandy know I'm going home." The dark-haired male budged away from the wall and rushed down the three small steps until he was standing back on solid ground. His burned down cigarette was tossed carelessly to the dirt, and stomped on firmly by his boot. He wandered in the direction of his house, leaving behind Lip, although his words remained burned into his thoughts.

∫∫∫

Mickey sat alone in his room. In his hand, he held a picture of Ian that he'd stolen years ago from Mandy; he was dressed in his army uniform and Mickey was sure the Gallagher had never looked so good. He would always consider Ian the hottest man  _alive_. He didn't bother to wipe his eyes as they watered; the tears were trickling down his cheeks, desperate for a location to land, which happened to be a trail down his neck until they seeped into his black shirt. He was unbelievably sorry for what he'd done to Ian; he wished he were capable of an apology. Ian deserved one. His crude actions had been uncalled for.

"Hey, why'd you disapp--" Mandy had walked into his room uninvited and he'd had no warning to compose himself; he hadn't even known she was home. Everyone else was out, and he supposed that he was lucky it had only been her that had spurted in, although, he didn't like to portray emotions in front of his sister either. Even if he rallied her to approach him with her emotional struggles. It was one of his rare moments of weakness, and it terrified him. 

The 3x2 photo of Ian was hastily stuffed beneath his leg in an attempt to keep it hidden from Mandy's watchful eyes. "Get the fuck out," he demanded, but Mandy didn't seem to have a plan to budge. The youngest Milkovich had yet to learn about Mickey's relationship with her best friend and Mickey wasn't so sure he was ready to tell her - he wasn't sure he would ever be.

"Mick, what's wrong?" She took a few steps towards him, her feet delicately padded on the stained carpet until she stood against the wall opposite him leaving only a short distance between the siblings.

"Nothing," he billowed. "Just go,  _please_." His words were desperate, but it did nothing to encourage Mandy to obey his wishes. It wasn't a surprise that she instead took the final steps towards him until she stood next to the twin-sized bed.

"Mick, I know you better than that. I know something is up with you. Does this have to do with Ian?" Mickey shook his head frantically; he couldn't let her know, he kept telling himself that. Mandy shared everything with him, all her insecurities, who caused her harm, and even what her friends were up to - normal teenage gossip. It was only right if he did the same, if he finally conveyed his biggest secret to her.

"I always thought he'd make it through perfectly fine; he'd come home and be the same person. He was supposed to be fucking fine. And then he'd get the chance to find a guy that could give him what he wanted, what he  _needed_." Mickey took a deep breath as thoughts of how he'd fucked up Ian's life ran through his mind. "Mandy, I think I'm in love with him..." The younger of the siblings plummeted onto the messy bed and sat hip-to-hip with her brother while an arm draped around his shoulders.

"You should've told me a long time ago fuckface," she chuckled as an attempt to lighten the rigid air that had settled around them and seemingly robbed them of the oxygen that fueled their life. "Now what on earth are you hiding under your leg - yes, I caught you stuff something there." She reached between the fabric of Mickey's jeans and the rough blanket draped over his bed; Mickey only lifted his leg so that she had easier access - no use hiding it anymore. Her fingers pulled at the photograph and a smile spread from cheek to cheek upon the discovery of what she was looking at. "I've been wondering where this went. Of course, you're welcome to keep it."

Mickey wasn't all that surprised that Mandy wasn't upset with him; she'd always been accepting of Ian, it shouldn't have been any different with her brother. "Thanks." His voice was weak and hoarse from the continuous crying and speaking only caused him to shake. "Means a lot to me Mands. Not sure I can bare to go see him again though."

"Mickey," she respired and her hand rubbed over his arm in an attempt to provide comfort. "He needs you there. You've got to try...for him."

"I'll think about it," he murmured. His head was buried in Mandy's neck, and she took over the role as Mickey's protector. Mickey took alleviation in no longer having to uphold himself for the sanity of others. He'd needed a break from being the durable one that others - namely Mandy - careened on for support.

"Get some sleep." Mandy pressed a kiss to his forehead and moved so that they were laying side-by-side. It was a mirror of every time she'd cried to him and ended up asleep in his arms. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

Mickey allowed his eyes to loll shut, and his head rested on the frail girls shoulder. "Thank you Mandy," he voiced groggily and promptly passed into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr- captainjackfuckingbarakat  
> Thank you for everyone who has read so far. I am feeling so good about this and am getting my motivation back.


	3. You Can’t Hide Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so people know, and don't get confused, I kind of mixed the layout of the Milkovich house in the early seasons and later seasons. Like Mickey's room looks the same, except the bathroom is down the hall, not in his room

“Come on Mick, you can’t stay in this house forever. And Ian _totally_ misses you.” Mickey rolled his eyes while Mandy sat beside him on his bed, which was disheveled, with his blankets haphazardly draped across the mattress. Mandy had been nagging him for a couple days to visit Ian, and he continuously refused, although his sister would not be deterred. Mandy carelessly painted her toenails purple; she’d already gotten three spots of nail polish on his jeans where she’d rested her feet on him and he was about ready to toss her out.

She sat horizontally, leaning against the wall that his bed was pressed against. Mickey stretched out his legs, forcing his sister to move as she took up his leg room. The youngest Milkovich swatted at her brother, but shifted her legs to accommodate for Mickey and his feet reached the bottom of the bed as he rested his head on the stained pillow. Mandy lounged her feet across his thighs and happily continued to paint her nails, ignoring her brothers complaints of being used as a foot rest.

“You saw him cry last time, that was because of _me_. He definitely doesn’t want me around; probably doesn’t want to see me ever again.” Mickey lifted his knee – he just couldn’t seem to sit still – which caused Mandy’s feet to be propelled from their resting place on his leg and the nail polish was knocked over, spraying his blankets with purple. “Fuck,” he shook his head and huffed. Mickey jumped up and desperately tried to salvage his blanket – his _favorite_ blanket – from getting consumed by a sea of purple.

“Damn Mick. I-I’m so sorry.” Mandy tried to apologize, but anger had already boiled inside of Mickey, and caused his face to beat red.

“This was mom’s fuckin' blanket, asshole. You fucking _ruined_ it.” He grabbed tissues from his dresser – some were already used – and frantically wiped to rid the quilt of that stupid purple that was staining the fabric and ever so slowly soaking in. Mandy attempted to lend a hand but was instead shoved away. “No. Just get the _fuck_ out of my room.” The dark-haired girl didn’t hesitate to turn the other way. _Open and close_.

Mickey only felt slight remorse for causing his own sister misery. Mandy knew though, that the quilt had meant something to him, that it had been their _mother's_. She’d made it before the drugs over powered her life and prevented her from doing anything good for her children. It had been made before he was born, as a baby blanket for him; she’d made one for each of her kids, aside from Mandy; by then, her hands shook too much to do anything of the sort. He’d held on tight to it ever since he was young, and it became even more of a security when troubles occurred – his mother's death, Ian’s departure, and now, Ian’s return. And it had been fucking ruined by Mandy’s filthy purple nail polish. He supposed it was fitting, as his mother had always adored the color purple. She’d take him outside, when he was still young, to enjoy the purple gradient that swelled the sunset.

Mandy was right back at his door with a bottle of nail polish remover. “Let me help.” She moved back into the room and soaked a cloth with the clear liquid. “I’m really sorry. We’ll get it cleaned up.” Mickey nodded and held out the quilt in defeat to his sister’s delicate and small hands and she began to gently scrub it down. The anger dispersed as he was filled instead with sadness. “I know you two were close…” She commented quietly while she worked the remover deep into the fabric of the quilt until the room smelled so strongly of the substance.

“Not really,” he huffed and sat back on his bed. “ _I_ was close to her, and she just fucked off for drugs before I even knew how to say 'mama'. You didn’t know her. She was a shit mom.” He’d always find something good in her though, she was his _mother_ , and he missed her. Missed the days when he was six years old and scrambled under the couch to grasp the needle his mother’s shaking hands had dropped – ‘ _My little helper_ ’ – and when he was ten and she sent him to buy her drugs. He was special to her, that was what she’d brainwashed him into thinking.

“You don’t have to act tough all of the time Mick.” Mandy finished up with the quilt and set it on top of Mickey's bed to dry; a purple stain remained, but it would suffice. Mickey laid back, careful to avoid the drying blanket, and became infatuated with the ceiling, if only to ignore the conversation. “Fine, continue to pretend like nothing can bring you down and all that shit. That can’t be too fun when you’re hurting inside.”

“Bitch, shouldn’t you be with Gallagher? Go visit your boyfriend or whatever. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I’m supposed to be there soon,” she nodded. She only sat beside Mickey, with no real intention to leave him alone. “Do you love him?” Mickey’s eyes scrutinized the ceiling, analyzing each bump and the crack that ran across the center. “I think you do.” Mickey reached over for the blanket and tugged it to his chest – he couldn’t tell Mandy, it was hard enough to admit it to himself. The quilt still smelled an awful lot like the nail polish remover, and he was quick to push it away from his face. “It’s okay to be scared.” Mickey quite disagreed. “It’s okay if you don’t want to see him, but you can’t keep moping around this house, Mickey.”

Mandy was given a silent response, and Mickey’s eyes burned as he glared at the ceiling; he was mentally begging her to go; he was tired of being caught in emotional situations. “I’m going out with some friends later, you should come.”

“If I want to get drunk, I’ll do so from the comfort of my own room.” He flipped her off and kicked out his legs to urge her out of his bed.

“Alright alright,” she hissed and was quick to stand up to avoid his kicks. “I get the message. Try not to be too pathetic.”

∫∫∫

“Get off your ass. Come on.” Mandy burst into his room and he groaned from his position in bed.

“The fuck is your problem?” He shoved his face further into his pillow; he had done exactly as he’d said and gotten drunk all on his own and was left with one hell of a hangover – one that had lasted a couple of days. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

“And you’re not moping around in here forever. Unless you want me to tell Ian more stories about my _pathetic_ brother.” She raised her voice, and smiled with success when he cringed at the obnoxious sound.

“Come on Mands, I’m fucking exhausted. Let Ian think I’m some pathetic loser, I don’t care anymore.” He flipped her off and rolled onto his back reluctantly to stare up at his ceiling - he seemed to do that a lot lately, and he'd memorized almost every tiny detail - while his arms folded over his chest. “Now excuse me while I cure my hangover with more alcohol.”

“You can’t keep going around completely inebriated all of the time. Have some dignity. I’m going out with friends, and _you’re_ coming with. We’re gonna dance and forget about our troubles. Please Mick.” Mickey huffed; clearly, this night wasn’t just for her brother, she obviously needed a night off, and that was what had him agreeing.

“Fine. Now fuck off so I can get presentable.” Mandy clasped her hands together and a smile adorned her features. Mickey shooed her off before she was given the chance to spurt out thank you’s and such. “You got what you wanted, so leave me the fuck alone.” He unwillingly sat up to convince his younger sibling that he wasn’t going to pass back into a state of unconsciousness as soon as she turned her back.

“Awesome,” Mandy beamed and a glow seemed to emit from her, making her face light up. “You’re the best. We’re leaving at seven.”

Mickey waited until his bedroom door was closed behind her and it was officially a Mandy-free zone to finally heave himself out of his lumpy bed. He yawned as he padded down the hallway to the bathroom. He passed Terry’s room on his left, cluttered with random shit, just how the old fucker left it, and then Iggy’s nearly empty room to his right, with only a few spare boxes remaining. He pushed open the bathroom door and was greeted by the disgusting smell of mold; it wasn’t as if they could afford to get the years of mold that had caked on removed.

He fiddled with the shower handle until finally a light stream of slightly discolored water hit the floor of the creaky shower. He stripped off his boxers with ease, and his tank top clung to the sweat on his chest. Summer was quickly approaching, and they had yet to turn on the air conditioning because it ' _wasn’t really that hot yet_ '.

Mickey carefully stepped under the cold spray and it was definitely a nice change from the sticky air that surrounded him. He didn’t bother to be too thorough as he cleansed himself. He scrubbed a thin layer of shampoo into his hair and proceeded to stand still under the cool water. Mickey rather enjoyed the time to himself; with all of the people that often clambered in and out of the Milkovich house, he craved the peace.

His alone time was cut short by a banging on the bathroom door – he was smart enough to keep it locked, to prevent someone from barging in to take a dump. “Open the door fuckface,” Iggy hissed from the other side of the cracked door.

“Be fucking patient,” Mickey yelled back over the sound of the weak water pounding down on his skin. “Didn’t you move out anyways? Go stink up your own fucking bathroom.” The water was shut off, with a few extra drips hitting the floor. Mickey was sure to take his time, if only to infuriate his brother.

“Come to collect some more shit,” he explained and banged on the wood. “I know you’re done, asswipe.”

“Calm your fuckin' tits.” Mickey eventually unlocked the door and walked out with a beige towel wrapped around his waist. “All yours. And don’t forget to spray that febreze shit when you’re done. Don’t need the whole fucking house smelling like your excrement.”

He easily dodged a poorly aimed punch from Iggy and escaped to his room. Iggy was only a couple of years older than Mickey, and they’d been a lot closer when they were younger. They’d both enjoyed the sunsets with their mother, until Iggy grew older and became one of their dad’s goons. From there, Mickey tended to stay away – he wouldn’t allow himself to be altered into another clone of his father.

“So what are you wearing tonight?” Mickey jumped at his sister’s voice and his towel promptly dropped to the floor, only adding to the mess.

“The fuck, Mandy,” he rasped and scrambled to find a clean pair of boxers – he settled on a plaid green pair that smelled halfway decent. “I’m trying to get dressed here.”

“Relax, it’s not like it’s something I haven’t seen before.” Mickey cringed at that comment – he didn’t want to know how many dicks his sister had seen in her 20 years. Mandy began going through his dresser – she made sounds of displeasure at each thing she found – and it annoyed the other Milkovich to no end. “You gotta attract some attention. You might be committed to Ian -"

“Since fucking _when_ am I committed to Ian?” He asked incredulously and was simply ignored.

“You’ve still gotta lure the attention of some sexy guys. They can look, but _they can’t touch_ ,” she smirked as she wagged her finger. Mickey sneered at her and attempted to brush off her insistent remarks. “You need to get out more Mick, you’ve spent way too much time in this hell hole of a house; you must be going crazy.”

“I’m fuckin' fine. I’m gonna wear whatever the fuck I want.” He shoved her away from his clothes and pulled out something random – a pair of ripped jeans and a black button down shirt. “Let’s face it, I look good in everything.”

“Just wear something nice to get guys going. I’m making some dinner and then we’ll get going.”

“What fucking time is it?” He groaned and scrubbed at his face

"Five."

“Thought I had until seven?” Mandy shrugged and skipped from his room – she was much too cheerful – leaving him amongst his mesh of clothing. “Fuckin' Mandy,” he shook his head.

∫∫∫

“Come on,” Mandy groaned and strived to pull him along with her to the club that pumped out music. “We’ll have fun. And you’ll get fucking plastered! I’m paying and you can’t turn down free booze.”

Mickey huffed and ceased tugging away from Mandy’s incessant pull towards the club. “This better not be some fuckin’ fairy club.”

“Where else are we supposed to go? I need somewhere guys won’t be objectifying me, and somewhere _you_ will get hit on.” That had Mickey rolling his eyes; he was not in the mood for guys to come onto him. Mandy had been right, he was very much committed to the stupid wounded redhead.

Mickey was guided into the building and was met with flashing lights and mostly naked men. No one really captured the Milkovich’s line of sight; he was too caught up thinking about Ian. The Gallagher was on his mind way too much. “Let’s dance.” He was dragged unsuspectingly towards the dance floor by Mandy and she jumped around obnoxiously, with her group of friends surrounding them. “Move around. Otherwise no one is going to notice you.” She held onto his arms and forced him to wiggle, although he made as little movement as possible. “Mister grumpy pants,” she pouted in an attempt to mock his grouchy face. “I should have gotten you drunk first. Go get a drink grumpy pants, I’m going to enjoy myself.”

“And I’m going to continue to grouch around and blow off every guy that so much as looks at me.” He’d already begun to do exactly that. He sat down with his arms crossed at the bar and sipped at a rum and coke.

It wasn’t long before the first poor victim plopped onto the stool beside him. “Hey sexy.” The blonde trailed a hand down Mickey’s arm and smirked at him. “You wanna dance with me? I bet those hips can _move_.” He drawled out the last word, and Mickey was more than disgusted by his demeanor.

“How about you remove your stupid hand before I fuckin' break it and find some other poor sucker to trap.” The man was clearly taken aback and he didn’t hesitate to snap his hand away and stand up quickly.

“Someone hurt you bad,” he exhaled and stomped off. Yeah, Ian had ripped everything out and smashed it to the ground when he’d left for the army. He was quick to finish his drink and ordered another before the burn of alcohol was allowed to fully slink down his throat. Vodka, straight up vodka, and he only hoped that it might do something to dull the painful reminders of Ian that caved in around him.

The guys were adorned in tight, sparkly gold shorts, and he was reminded of Ian’s bright glow – he’d always been so happy. The hazy fog of smoke that flooded the club, reminded him of their nights spent together, fucking and getting high, with the smoke of a joint passed between them swirling up towards the night sky. The flashing strobe lights and swirling colors were a blatant reminder that he was responsible for everything that had occurred between them. _I don’t need you_. Oh yes he did. Stupid stupid stupid.

“Hey,” Mandy chirped as she hopped up behind him – clearly she was having more fun than he was, everyone was. “You still grouchy?” He growled at her, bared his teeth, and lifted his fingers to mimic claws. “Okay. That answers that. You good and drunk now?”

He swallowed his vodka as quick as he could and chased it down with a beer, the liquid rushing after the burning alcohol. “Almost ready to make a fool of myself on the dance floor. Your dancing is shameful. Someone has got to show you up.”

And dancing, well it reminded him that Ian was off stuck in a bed, unable to move and do anything on his own. A reminder that Mickey was in fact capable of standing up and returning to take care of him. Life was full of second chances. Things could work out; he could at least _try_.

He tilted his head back and laughed as he jumped around with his sister and took the time to bask in the glow of lights. It was something he hadn’t done in ages. He decided that he and Ian would be okay.

∫∫∫

Mickey was just full of bad decisions, and sneaking through the Gallagher’s back door at two in the morning was amongst the stupidest. The Gallagher's place was closer than his own, and Mandy had abandoned him while she ventured off with her friends. She’d left him out front of the club, and announced that they weren’t quite finished partying – they probably took their energy to some house party to get high. He could no longer walk straight, and in his drunken state, he’d decided that it was smarter to crash in Ian’s bed than stumble the rest of the way home – he still took the route home that was ingrained in his mind that led him towards the Gallagher's house. Plus, it was the only time he’d have such confidence.

The house was dark and Mickey had tripped while walking inside. He didn't even have to bust the lock – making it much easier for him – because they were dumb enough to leave the door unlocked. The stairs seemed never ending in his drunken stupor, and he had a much harder time than when he’d visited completely sober. He fell down after only two steps and chose instead to continue up on his hands and knees. His knees were easily burned by the carpet due to the rips that stretched in his jeans.

Once he managed to fight his way to Ian’s room – it was much harder than it should have been – he saw that Carl and Liam were both sound asleep in their own beds, both of them with ear plugs stowed to block out all possible distractions, such as Mickey’s loud belching. “Oopsies,” he giggled to himself as he rested his body completely on the bunk bed to keep himself upright. Ian appeared to be asleep at first, but as Mickey stared longer, he caught Ian's subtle shifts that only meant he had to be awake.

“Firecrotch,” Mickey aimed to whisper, but it exited his mouth louder than planned. It caught Ian’s attention though. His eyes sought out the other man in the dark; he must have adjusted to the lack of light because he spotted Mickey – who had to squint to see _anything_ – right away. “Fuck, you look like shit.” His drunken proclamation was very much true and the not-really-red-anymore-redhead looked as though he had never slept.

Mickey hiccupped and stumbled forwards, ending up on his ass beside Ian’s bed that was adorned with a camouflage bed set. “Oops,” he snickered as he attempted to stand up – which failed – and simply hefted himself onto Ian’s bed, using what little strength he had left; he was barely conscious anymore. He rested beside Ian, squeezing into the space between Ian and the wall. The space was cramped, but he was more than comfortable with Ian next to him.

“Goodnight Gallagher,” he yawned as he stretched an arm across Ian’s still well-toned torso. Being wedged next to Gallagher was by far a better option than going home to his own bed, which lacked an Ian to cuddle with – he felt warmer inside. “Love you,” Mickey let slip without any thought as he began to drift off. It wasn’t something he’d be capable of remembering when morning came. Most of the night had already escaped his memory.

∫∫∫

Mickey woke up disoriented and he felt like shit. He wasn’t in his own bed – it was obvious, even though he hadn’t yet opened his eyes, because it wasn’t lumpy like his own. As he took in his surroundings with his eyes still closed – to avoid being faced by the sun – he noticed a body beneath his arm, and he momentarily worried that he’d gotten drunk enough to go home with a stranger. As he peaked his eyes open, squinting as the light blinded him, it was only slight relief to find that it was Ian’s familiar form beside him. He couldn’t draw anything from his memory past jumping about on the dance floor of the club and taking a pill Mandy had passed his way without question.

Ian seemed to be asleep – or he’d gotten really good at faking it, although Mickey knew his tics – and there was no hesitation in Mickey’s movements as he scrambled to stand up. He didn’t allow himself any time to look over Ian and witness what a mess he was. Mickey wouldn’t even give himself a chance to recover from the dreadful hangover and bolted out of the room. He was quite relieved that no one seemed to be up, and when he glanced at his phone, he saw that it was only five a.m. – he promptly ignored the calls and texts from Mandy.

Mickey was out of the house in a matter of minutes and it was a comfort. He didn’t wish to be caught by any of the Gallagher's. He still wasn’t ready.

The sun rose steadily, but it hadn’t yet taken high enough to obscure his sight as he took the walk of shame. He was glad that he lived only a short distance away, as he was ready to swallow a bottle of Tylenol and sleep the day away. He forced the front door open and it creaked as he did so – everything in the house was fucking broken – and then allowed it to fall shut behind him. He winced slightly, but wasn’t bothered much by it.

“The fuck, asshole?” Mandy hissed as she sat up on the couch. “Does your phone not fuckin' work? Where were you?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and continued to the kitchen to riffle through their cupboard full of drugs – some innocent, like Tylenol and Advil, and then some other drugs, like coke and ecstasy and a few prescription meds – and once his hands gripped the opaque white bottle of Tylenol he pulled his arm back. “My phone was on silent. I crashed at some dude’s house.”

“Did you have sex?” Mandy gasped, stood up much too eagerly, and bounded towards him. “You didn’t right? You have Ian. That’s something you can’t screw up. Have you seen the state he’s in?”

“Relax. No sex. I just slept. _Nothing_ else.” He shook three pills into his hand, grabbed a likely dirty cup from the cabinet, and filled it with water. He downed the round pills and wandered off. “Now leave me alone. I’m going to sleep.”

Mandy stuck up her nose and permitted him to stalk off.

∫∫∫

“He _needs_ you Mick,” Mandy whined as she plopped on the couch beside Mickey while he played video games. “I went and saw him today. He’s been talking a bit Mickey, and he told me that he wants you to come and see him. Come on, you’ve _got_ to.”

Mickey focused ahead on the TV as he shot at the other figures; he was never in the mood to converse with his sister about Ian; she was so persistent. “I can’t okay,” he rolled his eyes and furiously pressed _x_. “I’m busy.”

“You’re annoying,” she muttered and her arms folded over her chest, only accenting her cleavage in the strapless black top.

“And you’re a slut. Put some clothes on.” His words were easily ignored and he became frustrated. “Listen Mandy, things didn’t end well between us.”

“ _Obviously_ , otherwise he wouldn’t have left. But that’s no excuse.”

Mickey paused the game and muted the TV because he never could stand the annoying jingle that would begin to play. He plopped the controller to the stolen PS3 on the coffee table that was covered in candy wrappers and cigarette butts, and he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands in defeat. “We fought. It was bad. I said things I regret. He left. And then I couldn’t apologize. And now I worry he won’t forgive me.”

“Oh Mick.” He despised her sympathetic tone as she rubbed his back gently in an attempt to sooth his stress. “Ian will always forgive you, you should know that. You two are meant to be.” Utter bullshit.

“I’m just not ready… I need time Mandy. Please, give me _time_.” He wished she would go away, because he was nearly ready to cry. “I need to be alone Mands.”

She seemed hesitant to agree, but slowly nodded as she stood from the couch. “I’ll be in my room if you need me Mick.” He rubbed at his temple as he once again became frustrated with himself – he’d really fucked up; he always did.

∫∫∫

_“I don’t fucking need you.” Ian had come over to the Milkovich house because everyone was out and Mickey thought it’d be nice to spend time together. Things went south when Ian started to tease him about it being a **date** – Mickey had still been adamant about no emotional attachment aside from the sparse kisses they’d shared. “We’re not fucking boyfriend and girlfriend. We never will be.” He understood that he’d overreacted._

_“It’s not my fault you’re such a baby about your feelings.” The anger burst inside of Mickey, a fire fueling his actions and suddenly, he no longer had any control. Without the permission of his brain, his fists clenched at his side, and in one swift motion, he lifted his right arm and swung at Ian. The redhead hadn’t seen it coming and his head snapped back as Mickey's hand – the hands Ian had become familiar with as soft and gentle – roughly crunched his nose. The pain was evident as he spit blood on the carpet – no one would notice; the once white floor was already stained._

_“I don’t need you.” The words were forced through his teeth and it tasted sour on his tongue, like tomatoes - which he hated. It was all just to prove a stupid point, and he was beginning to push too far, or maybe he’d already passed that point. “I don’t want to fucking see you again. No more fucking around.”_

_“Fine.” Ian appeared to be in more pain than when Mickey had punched him moments ago. His face fell and he allowed himself less than a minute to take in Mickey’s features once more. He didn’t appear even slightly remorseful. “Whatever you wish.”_

_The Milkovich pleaded with himself to run after the Gallagher as he grabbed his jacket aggressively from the back of the ratty couch – it was early fall. He couldn’t, because he was much too stubborn, and he coerced himself to stay put and hold his ground – it was the Milkovich way. Fucking stupid._

∫∫∫

Mickey definitely hadn’t expected to find Iggy on the couch when he got home – Mandy had forced him out of the house to buy groceries. Yet there he was, his eyes nervously flickering from the television to the digital clock. “The fuck you doing here?” He meandered around the couch and kitchen table to set the food on the counter. He began to empty the bags, starting with everything frozen. He pried at the freezer door, as the handle had been ripped off long ago.

“I got a call today.” That meant fuck all to Mickey – his older brother had a habit of saying shit that only made sense to himself. “From the county jail. Dad’s getting out next week, and he’s sending me to fetch him. Thought I’d warn ya.” Iggy had stood up and stuffed his hands into the depths of his pockets. “He’s gonna be surprised how much has changed. And I know Terry is not fun to live with, so you can crash with me if you want. I’m sure Anna won’t mind.”

Terry had been in jail for a whole year, and at that time, Iggy and Colin had both still lived at home. “I can take care of myself.” _Not really_. He was probably the kid his dad hated most – he’d always been a disappointment. A package of hamburger slipped to the floor as he began to stress what would happen upon his dad’s arrival home. “Thanks for the warning.” He bent down to pick up the package and proceeded to cram it into the packed fridge. “I’ll make sure Mandy stays out of the house.” Iggy nodded and glanced to the ground as Mickey attempted to go back to acting as though his dad wasn’t coming home in a week. He switched from the freezer to the fridge, which was quite sparse. “The fuck you still doing here?”

“That offer still stands okay. You know where I’m living, and my door is open to you. Just be careful man.” Iggy looked back at his brother briefly, and left when it became apparent that nothing more would be said.

Mickey clutched a bottle of ketchup and tried to calm himself with deep breaths. Terry had fucking ruined his life. The bottle was thrown with much force at the wall, and red splattered around, standing out greatly against the white of the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback would be much appreciated
> 
> tumblr: captainjackfuckingbarakat


	4. Things are Never as They Seem

“Ya miss me?” Terry hollered, his voice echoing in the house as he let escape a hearty chuckle. A burning cigarette hung from his lips and his beer gut seemed to have fattened. “What? No fucking party? Where the fuck is Colin? And Uncle Tony?”

“Colin moved,” Iggy told him as he pulled the front door closed and followed his father inside. “Out of state. Indiana.”

“The fuck is in Indi-fucking-ana?” Terry blurted out – his mood had already soured. Iggy simply shrugged and looked nervously towards his younger brother, who had yet to say a word. He stood with his shoulders hunched and scratched at his hand. “Mickey, get me a fucking beer, and some coke. We’ll just have to party on our own. Oh, and a beer for your brother.” Mickey wasn’t about to argue, and would instead allow his father to use him as his slave as long as he was home, that was how it always worked. He scurried off without hesitation to do as commanded.

“Nah dad, I gotta go. Got my girl waiting at home with supper.” Their father’s wrath burst out and he towered over his middle son – his pride and joy.

“You moved out too? You’re all just leaving, and nobody fucking bothers to tell their father anything anymore! Not even one fucking visit. What next? You have a fucking kid?” Mickey was quickly back in the living room, and he hoped booze and drugs might do well to soothe Terry, because what he would hear next would only escalate things.

“Well,” Iggy mumbled and scratched his neck and his skin flushed red from the nerves that seemed to spike. He only seemed capable of staring at the ground and hoping his father wouldn’t be too angered.

“Well fucking what?” the vengeful Terry bellowed out. He snatched the beer Mickey held out to him with a shaky hand and took a large gulp – his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, slow and menacingly.

“I got a daughter. Popped out a couple months back.” It was no wonder Iggy never told him, it would be a shame to have Terry as a grandfather.

“I got a fucking granddaughter and you never bothered to tell me? Fucking shit son you are.” He didn’t seem so mad though, and the smile that slowly crept up on his face disgusted Mickey – he sure hoped he would never see his brother’s baby girl. “Well, when do I get to meet the fucker?”

“You know, me and Anna are just so busy. I don’t think anytime soon is a good idea.”

“What? Don’t want me near your fucking kid?” Terry snarled, taking great offense.

Iggy only shrugged. “Kind of. It’s not like you ever got yourself a father of the year award; don’t really want you trying to corrupt my kid like you did with me.”

Terry was at him in a flash, and Mickey jumped as his father aimed to strangle his brother. “You think I’m a bad father? Huh? I did nothing but take care of you.” That would’ve been good for a laugh, if Iggy weren’t struggling to breathe. He clawed at Terry’s hands and glanced around frantically for anything to aid him in escaping the bruising grasp.

Mickey knew that neither of them matched up to Terry’s strength. But he couldn’t simply let his father suck the breathe slowly out of his brother with no remorse. He was quick to escape to their cabinet full of weapons, and produced a crowbar. Something that would surely do some damage. The metal object was flung with great fervor to the back of the burly man’s head. He stumbled away from Iggy, dropping his hands and blacked out shortly after toppling over with his own weight pulling him down.

“Fuck.” Iggy rolled his neck and rubbed at the reddened skin where his fathers’ fingers had wrapped around him. “He’s going to kill you.”

“I know. Worth it though.” He glared down at his father’s body, and he’d never been so tempted to just finish him off. “Still think Anna will let me crash with you guys?” There was no way he wanted to stick around only to be kicked around by his father.

“Don’t be stupid,” his brother huffed and rolled his eyes. “Go grab some shit. Shouldn’t be coming back here with Terry in the house. Is Mandy safe?”

“Yeah, she’s staying at the Gallagher’s.” Mickey had called the day before – because she hadn’t come home anyways – to warn her, and she was happy to stay exactly where she was. Mickey walked back to his room and stuffed clothes inside of a ratty pillow case. “How long you think he’ll last?” He called from the bedroom.

“Couple days?” Iggy answered as they met back up in the same spot. “You know that the old fucker doesn’t have any trouble getting his ass kicked back in the pen.” Iggy was more than right. “Let’s get out of here before he wakes up.

∫∫∫

Mickey had yet to visit Iggy’s new home; he’d only moved out a few months ago, and Mickey had been in jail at the time. He still hadn't met his niece either. He was quite familiar with Anna, as she’d been with Iggy for over a year. She was a nice enough girl – much better than any Milkovich deserved.

“Mickey!” Anna’s frail arms wrapped around him as soon as he pushed through the front door. “How was the slammer?” She appeared quite underweight, but was still full of energy and joy, and never showed any signs of something being wrong.

“Oh you know how it goes,” he chuckled and patted her back delicately. “Where’s my niece? I’ve been dying to meet her.”

“Down for a nap. It’ll be supper time soon. Maybe you can feed her, god knows I need a fucking break.” She returned to the kitchen to stir whatever she had placed on the stove. “Honey, could you check on her?”

It was weird for Mickey to see his brother in such a domesticated environment – he’d always been a replica of Terry. “Just set your shit on the couch. Sorry, we don’t have a bed for you.” Mickey plopped the stuffed pillow case on the well kept couch and followed Iggy to the baby’s room. His brother watched the small girl asleep in the crib, and a dainty smile formed on his face. “Her name is Ann, after Anna and her mother. She’s so small. Born a month early, but they say she’s okay. Anna was good during her pregnancy; didn’t smoke or drink.” Iggy reached out a hand to gently caress his daughter’s cheek. A flash of worry appeared on his face. “Fuck Mick, do you think I’m gonna be a good father?”

“Relax man. Long as you’re nothing like Terry, you’ll be great. You and Anna are great parents, and this little girl is fucking lucky that she is your child.” He couldn’t be sure how true his statement was, as he had yet to see his brother parent, but the look of pure adoration on his face was a giant improvement from Terry. They lived in a much nicer neighborhood too – still Southside, but a bit more North – and it seemed to be a good enough place to raise a kid. He’d witnessed plenty of other youngsters running around the area as they’d meandered through the streets. They even seemed smart enough not to play in the streets – good parents. Anna and Iggy must have been working hard to keep up with living there.

“Terry never would’ve worried about being a good parent, and that sets you apart already.” He patted his brothers back and took a moment to peer over his shoulder at his niece. “She’s a beauty.”

“Looks a lot like Anna,” he nodded. “She gets her good looks from her mama. No good-looking genes on the Milkovich side of things.”

As he stared at the girl, and he was given a heavy reminder of a woman that had once been an important player in their lives. “Looks like mom.” It was quite a burden to look at his brother’s daughter and only be reminded of their mother.

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly as his eyes absorbed the similarities. “Yeah, I guess she does. Her eyes are pretty damn blue. Bluer than yours, just like mom.” Iggy had known a sober mom much better than him, and Mickey would stay up late with his older brother demanding to hear stories of her. There’d be a party in the living room, and all the kids would huddle together in their room – except Colin; he was the oldest and was rarely home. They lived in a much smaller home at the time. Iggy would groan each time before giving in and recounting memories of their mother when she was a _real_ mom.

“Mom always had the beauty. It seems all of her good looks were passed to Mandy.” The youngest Milkovich was almost an exact replica of their mom; same eyes and smooth, silky hair, except their mother was a blonde. It was Terry that gave them their dark hair. Their attitude was quite similar as well; tough, but with a soft side that matched no other. “She’s gonna be attracting all of the boys, you’ll have to watch out.”

Iggy chuckled. “She’s gonna be an angel. Nothing like any of us fuck ups. I’m gonna clean up my act, meaning no more drugs, or Terry, or _fights_. This little girl deserves the world.” Mickey was fond of his brother’s care for the baby that he had been a part in creating. “She’ll actually go to classes and not sleep with every fucking guy, and no illegal activities.” His hand carefully caressed her plump cheeks, and her eyes fluttered open as she smiled and made incomprehensible gargling sounds.

“Is daddy’s sweet little girl hungry? Momma will feed you soon enough.” He gently lifted Ann from her crib and kissed her forehead. “First, I wanna introduce you to your Uncle Mickey,” he beamed and held out his daughter to the other Milkovich. “Go ahead and hold her. Just…be careful.” Mickey rolled his eyes at his brother’s apprehension and awkwardly took the baby in his hands – he’d never held a baby before, fuck, he’d never laid eyes on a _real_ baby.

“Damn, those are some really fucking blue eyes. Big, too. Innocent.” He allowed Ann to grip his index finger and giggle at his face. “Wow she’s adorable; can’t believe you created her. Guess her mom’s pretty gorgeous though.” Iggy punched his arm softly, which caused Ann laughed and flung her arms about. “You think that’s funny? You like to see your uncle in pain. You daughter is a shit.”

“See if I let you hold her again,” he rolled his eyes and took his daughter back.

“More like you’re too attached to let anyone touch your precious.”

“Damn right. She’s my angel, and you ain’t allowed to call her a shit.” He rocked her in his arms and left the pink room. “Mickey hates our daughter,” Iggy announced as he took the bottle that had been prepared.

“Oh I’m so sure,” she chuckled and kissed Iggy in greeting. “That sounds just like Mickey. Mhm. Supper is ready. Sit down Mickey. And Iggy, stop being such an ass.” Mickey pulled out a chair from the table and flopped down. “Thanks Anna.”

“Of course.”

∫∫∫

“Are you safe Mick?” Mandy sounded frantic over the phone. Mickey stepped out of Iggy’s house to enjoy a smoke – _‘Ey, no smoking in the house. It’s bad for Ann.’_ – when he’d heard Mandy call. “Dad’s home, did you know? Please tell me you’re not staying in that house.” Mickey leaned forward against the railing that surrounded the deck and glared up at the beating sun.

“Relax.” He exhaled the smoke and watched a cloud surround him. “I’m with Iggy. You’re out of the house too, right?”

“The Gallagher’s are lending me their couch.” Mickey was honestly relieved. “So, you meet Ann then? Such a cutie,” Mandy gushed.

“Yeah, I met her… Looks like mom. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Think you could get some of my shit from the house?”

“Yeah. Course Mands.” He wasn’t too fond of returning to the house with Terry out of jail, but he’d do it - anything for Mandy. “I’ll bring your shit by the Gallagher’s tomorrow.”

“The back door should be open. Thanks a ton.”

∫∫∫

Mickey was more than relieved that Terry was out when he chose to venture to the Milkovich house to grab Mandy’s belongings and more of his own things. It was a fifty-fifty chance that his father would be home – he got lucky. So he grabbed the list of things Mandy had asked for and was out of there in a flash.

He went straight to the Gallagher’s, as he needed to be clear of his own home before Terry came back – his father would surely explode if he saw him. He didn’t bother to knock, because he knew that Mandy was expecting him at the house, and that the door was unlocked. She was sat at the kitchen table and visibly jumped when he entered.

“Fucking scared me,” she shook her head and reached for her stuff. “Thanks Mickey. Terry didn’t get to you right? You’re safe?”

“Hey, _calm_ down. I’m with Iggy, remember. _Safe._ ” He rested a hand on her shoulder to relax her and then pulled her to his chest. “He’ll be in jail soon enough. Don’t you worry.” Mandy wasn’t so easily convinced, but she humored him with a nod. He patted her back and dragged himself away.

“Ian’s not doing so good. Back to not moving and shit.” Mandy sat back in the kitchen chair and wrung her hands together. “He really wanted to see you.” Mickey knew that – she’d told him before – but he was terrified of encountering him again. Gallagher always made him go crazy. “Think about it,” she sighed and disappeared upstairs without a word.

He didn’t plan to stick around, but Lip appeared from the living room with his arms crossed and standing straight. “He needs you.” It was quite a surprise to hear Lip suggesting such a thing, not when he hated Mickey so much. “Mandy’s right.” He slipped a cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter a couple times until he got a consistent flame and lit the end. “I don’t approve at all. In all honesty, I think you’re a shit person, and my brother could do so much better. But you’re important to Ian, for some fucking stupid reason. So I’m going to encourage that you talk to him. Because pretty soon, he’ll be dead.” He took a pull on the cigarette and exhaled slowly, allowing the smoke to slip smoothly from his lips.

“Give me time. Just wait until Terry’s out of here. It’s not safe if he finds out I spend so much time here. I care about him, yes, but I need _time_. This isn’t that _easy_ for me.”

“You better keep your word, because I’m sure he can’t go on like this for long.”

∫∫∫

Mickey couldn’t force himself to stop thinking about Ian, he’d stay up late each night, and he stared at the ceiling, just worrying about him. Gallagher was stupid, that was clear.

The front door slammed shut, and Mickey jumped up, prepared to bash the head in of whoever had come inside. “Fucking Iggy,” he grumbled when his brother flipped on the light to find the younger man, with mussed up hair in the middle of his living room. “The fuck you doing out so late?” He huffed and tugged at his hair – surely, it would start falling out if he pulled so hard.

“Cops. Dad’s back in the camp. Got busted for drugs. It’s safe to go home now.” That was good news – yeah, _good_. But that meant he’d have to go see Ian, because that was what he’d promised Lip, and surely the oldest Gallagher boy would be on his ass for days – when the fuck did he start listening to that asshole again? “Mandy’s down at the station. I think you should go talk to her. She went home, and he was there, and drunk as always.” Iggy was clearly distressed, which was rare for him. “She told the cops something that will get him locked up for years. You need to hear it from her.”

“Fucking what?” he demanded. He couldn’t imagine what his father might have done to harm his baby sister. “She still at the station?” he mumbled as he fumbled for his shoes. He stuffed his feet clumsily into the shoes that were falling apart and all it took was a nod from Iggy before he was rushing out the door.

∫∫∫

Mickey sat across from his sister and his nerves boiled just at the sight of Mandy’s state. She prepared to speak again, but the other Milkovich silenced her. “Give me a fucking second.” He needed time to process, because it was a lot to take in. “He fucking –” Mickey tugged hard at the strands of his hair and then moved to chew at his stubby nails. “Tell me again because I couldn’t have heard you right.”

“Mick,” she sighed and reached out a hand to brush his arm; it was hard for her to talk about it too. “I had an abortion, because I was pregnant…with Terry’s baby.” It was the same exact words she’d relayed to him upon joining her in the room, and Mickey clenched his fists. His fists pounded against the metal table and he stood up with fire in his eyes, and lava broiling beneath his skin. They were given the privacy of one of the interrogation rooms, the same room in which Mandy had to recount the same story to the police.

“I’ll kill him, I swear I fucking will. God fucking dammit!” He paced the small room, wall to wall, over and over and continued to grip his air in frustration. He walked up to the one way window, where he saw only a mirror, but he knew they were being watched. He banged harshly on the glass. “Give us some fucking privacy. We’re not the ones in trouble here.” He couldn’t really be sure anyone had been watching until he heard the click of a door on the other side.

“And not once did you think to tell me,” he shook his head and kicked over the chair he had previously been seated in. “Didn’t think to tell your brother, who would’ve fucking taken care of things a long time ago. Instead, we had to endure four unnecessary years of that fucker in our lives.” His senses were clouded by the anger – not at Mandy, _Terry_. He had to keep reminding himself so that he didn’t misdirect his furry.

“I had to protect you,” she said meekly, afraid her brother might go off on her; _hurt_ her. “You would’ve killed him Mickey, and then I’d never see _you_ again. Who else is supposed to protect me if you’re locked away for life?” She tugged at her fingers and attempted to compose herself. “And me? I’d already been through so much. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone okay.”

Mandy was right, but he was too angered to see the rationale. He didn’t care how Mandy had felt, he just cared about _justice_. “He raped you Mandy! The fucker deserves to be dead, not stuck in some prison for a few years.”

“I told them other stuff too, so that he’d get a life sentence for sure. Like the drugs, and people he killed. He’s out of our lives for good now.”

“You idiot,” he hissed. “They haven’t sentenced him yet; we can’t know how long he’ll be in for. Even if he does get a life sentence, what he deserves is _death_. He could get out in ten years though, and come back to fucking kill us all. We’re fucked Mandy.” He sighed in defeat and made his way towards the door. “I need a smoke.” He didn’t think anything of his sister as he trudged his feet outside and placed a cigarette between his lips – he had no intentions to return to his sister inside. It didn’t occur to him just how much Mandy would need coddling at the moment; it wasn’t something he was capable of providing anyways.

He just needed to let off steam, and it was best not to lash out on Mandy – she was the _victim_.

∫∫∫

“You fucking knew.”

Mickey didn’t care that it was late – or early, really – and that the rest of the Gallagher’s were asleep. Ian had to have known already, because that was the only person Mandy would have gone to at such a time. With Mickey unavailable in juvie, Ian was her only resource.

Ian blinked at him – he’d been awake for hours. He only stared, waiting for an explanation as to the late interruption. “You knew what Terry did to her! She had a fucking abortion. Why the _fuck_ wouldn’t you tell me this? You think I’d handle this poorly? Screw you!”

Mickey was hurt that neither Mandy nor Ian thought it was important that he know. All he ever wanted was to protect the people he cared for – which mostly consisted of Ian and Mandy. “Fucking assholes you guys are,” he spat. His feet moved across the soft carpet of the cramped bedroom and paced from dresser to dresser on opposite sides of the room.

“You were in juvie.” Mickey was surprised to hear Ian’s voice break through his incessant thoughts; he’d been on a roll. “You couldn’t have done anything. You would’ve lashed out, and then you only would’ve been away for so much longer. I didn’t like being away from you.”

Mickey paused his frantic steps and looked back at Ian. Fuck, that redhead terrified him. “He’s made my life _hell_. I would’ve loved if he were gone from my life all those years ago. I would’ve _loved_ not to have been forced into hiding myself. You had no fucking right to keep that from me.” He despised the thought that he could have been freed of his father at an earlier time. “You’re an ass. Fucking both of you.”

“You done?” Ian sighed and looked morosely at the Milkovich that stood in his room, with little light illuminating his face. Mickey wasn’t done, he could go on forever, but one glance at Ian told him it was time to stop. “Come here. Calm down.” Ian lifted his arms, pressed his palms flat against the bed, and hefted himself closer to the wall.

“Don’t keep shit from me again. Got it?” he sat down on the edge of the soft bed – it must have been a relatively new mattress, probably due to Ian’s injury. The redhead beside him only rolled his eyes and reached a hand out to touch him. The contact of Ian’s skin brushing over his elbow had him flinching away on instinct. It was only a comforting touch of flesh, but _everything_ about the Gallagher scared him. They’d been apart for so long, and it was frightening to be close again; he wasn’t ready.

“Don’t,” he shrugged him off and pushed the extended hand away. “Just don’t.” He sat with his back to Ian, and his hands bruising into the mattress. His glare shot a fiery beam to the carpet and burned through the flooring. He just wasn’t _ready_. He never would be, but eventually – he hoped – he would muster up the courage to really come back to the man, for good, and sit in that bed without his body shaking.

“Did I do something wrong?” The hurt was evident in the redheads voice – fuck, he looked so small anymore. His hand no longer reached out pathetically towards the man that appeared so far off in thought. No longer hung silently between them, begging Mickey to just _scoot a little closer_.

“I can’t stay,” he whispered. He couldn’t push himself away yet. There was a strong tug, and it threatened to rip the heart from his chest and was pierced to the string Ian had long ago attached to him. Maybe one day he’d just leave it behind. Maybe none of it was worth it.

“Don’t do this Mickey.” The hand coddled him again, cupping his own hand, the one that clenched the sheets, and attempted to coax its death grip away. His chest swelled as the pull tried to drag him closer to Ian so their hearts could beat together, chest to chest. “Just stay until morning. Don’t run off again. _Please_.”

Mickey stayed silent, fearing what words might fly from his lips if he did not restrain himself. He felt himself immobile, and if he did move, he could not be sure which direction he would fall. He might run far in the opposite direction, increasing their distance, or rush into the awaiting arms and feel _whole_ again. “Say something,” Ian urged.

“I hate you.” The words seared his throat, and he hadn’t intended for that statement to escape his dry lips. It was false, and he hoped that Ian recognized the strain in his voice that would give away his lies. Of course he would; Ian knew everything about him.

“I hate you too.” Mickey slowly turned his head – fuck he shouldn’t have looked – and caught the smile across Ian’s lips and in his _eyes_. He was falling forward, drowning quickly in the sea of Ian’s green eyes that always brought with them comfort, and it was perfection.

“Fuck you,” he snarled and was quick to his feet. There were no protests from Ian that had him spinning around, wishing he was capable of sticking around. It came as a slight relief as he silently exited the house. Another visit no one would know of.

∫∫∫

“Move your feet asshole.” Mickey huffed as his legs were pushed to the side and Mandy made herself comfortable on her brother’s bed. “I got some shit for you.” She held a shoe box in her hands, and Mickey was clueless as to what waited for him inside. Mickey lifted his legs once more and plopped them into her lap. “It’s stuff from Ian. From when he was away. He wrote to me sometimes, and each time, he’d send you letters too. There was always something else, folded up nice and finished off with a piece of string.”

Mandy began to open the box and showed Mickey the examples of what he’d been sent. A couple pictures were stuffed between the cluttered papers. “I didn’t read any,” she assured him. “Kept them all bundled up for you. He said to only give them to you if he died, but I felt you needed to read them.”

Mickey only let escape a small ‘humph’ and attempted to ignore his sister. He didn’t want to read them, didn’t want to know what Ian might’ve said to him in his times of distress – no doubt bad things. “I’ll leave this here for you then.” She patted Mickey’s legs and rubbed a hand over his jeans. “You’re going to be okay.” He wouldn’t, and he didn’t need Mandy trying to comfort him. “You don’t always have to be so tough.

Her words fell on deaf ears, and he looked back up towards the ceiling as he fumbled with his hands. Mandy slipped off the bed and placed the box where she’d been sitting. “I’m going to leave this here. You can read them if you want. I know you’re listening Mickey.”

She stalked off, much to Mickey’s relief. It had become much harder to hold himself together in front of others. Mickey’s eyes flitted towards the box, and his hand reached out to run along the edge. Surely, all Ian had to say was that he’d ruined his life; that he never wanted to see him again.

A hand trembled as he pulled it towards his chest. It was Ian, the one that had dispersed from his life for three years, and he was easily drawn to it. Mickey slowly drew out the first letter and he hoped that they’d been kept in order. He gently brushed the rough pads of his fingers against the delicate papers and he was sure he might tear them. It felt as though the letters were decades old, saved for eternities and hidden from daylight.

He found himself frightened by what lay inside, as he oh so _carefully – ‘careful Mickey careful, don’t rip it’ –_ pulled the string that held the papers wrapped up nicely. As the string gave way, he took a moment to set the letter aside; he needed time. Slow, like the first time having sex. He needed to prepare himself.

_‘Ow ow,’ he’d pushed at the chest of the man behind him. ‘Ian, go slow.’_

Mickey reached for the photos. Most of them were wrinkled and worn; probably Mandy’s. Some were old and he recognized Ian’s cheeky smile when he was fifteen and he worried about nothing. Then, there were ones in which Ian was clad in camouflage and tears pricked his eyes. If only he’d been there, to hug him and kiss him as he wept and _begged_ him to stay – _with me_.

His lip trembled upon each memory thrown in his face and it was a wake up call he hadn’t been prepared for, not _ready_ for. Ian was never supposed to leave; if only he hadn’t forced him away. He held a particular picture close, because he’d taken it. Mickey had bought one of those shitty disposable cameras and they had fooled around with it. He’d captured many moments, but it stood out, because it was the only one they were both in. Ian had convinced him to pose with him, so Mickey had one of his short arms outstretched to hold the camera steady while he leaned against Ian. An earth shattering smile painted Ian’s face and it was pure beauty. He never knew that Ian had gotten the photos developed.

It was a rare moment of pure love that was captured between them. He missed that Ian.

The photo was still grasped in his hand as he reached back for the letter he was hyping himself up to read. It was dated for April 16, only a couple of months after Ian left, leaving the Gallagher plenty of time to organize his thoughts and hatred for Mickey.

‘Dear Mickey,’ were the first words written in the redheads legible, albeit rushed scrawl. He knew that reading the letter would spark something in him – likely hatred for himself – but he needed the insight on Ian.

 

_‘Dear Mickey,  
_

_You probably hate me, right? I sure as hell do. Leaving was a stupid idea. It was just a fight; we argue all the time. I guess I just didn’t like feeling as though I meant nothing to you. I don’t know if you regret what happened, but I definitely regret my reaction._

_I miss you. A whole fucking lot. I thought it was bad when you went to juvie, but now we’re on completely different continents. You’re no longer just a train ride away. I can’t be sure if I’ll ever see you again, if I’ll come home alive._

_I hope you find someone that can understand you better than I ever could. Looking back, I can see how much you always loved me, and I know you were just scared. I only ruined things by pressuring you. I guess it’s understandable now that we’re apart and I can start to comprehend._

_Your actions were understandable, with the family you have, and I was blinded by what I wanted._

_I love you Mick, I hope you know that._

_-Ian’_

 

Fuck. It was even worse than he’d thought. Ian _forgave_ him. Mickey had been crude to Ian since he’d gotten home, assuming that hard feelings were shared between them. He’d been so unbelievably wrong.

Mickey couldn’t stop himself from grabbing another letter, unceremoniously removing the string to unfold the papers. He was much more frantic than before, with the newfound knowledge that Ian hadn’t written vulgar words towards him. His eyes scanned the paper quickly.

 

_‘June 3_

_Dear Mickey,_  
  
I’m sorry I never told you I love you, I should have. I should have said it every fucking day. Maybe then, things could have been better. I regret it every day. I’ve been counting, and it’s already been 141 days without you. Fuck do I regret leaving.

_I don’t like it here Mick. Basic wasn’t so bad, kinda fun actually, but they shipped me off right away in February. The water is limited and we don’t get a lot of food. I don’t get to send letters often, and I’m sure this will come to you quite late._

_Two men in my platoon are dead already. Friends. I don’t want to kill anyone Mickey. I’m scared._

_-Ian’_

 

The fear in his writing was evident, and there was an obvious change from his first letter. He was given a new insight of Ian and what he’d been through. He was scared for Ian. Clearly, the army was tougher than he’d assumed; Ian may have been prepared physically, but blatantly not emotionally. Tear stains were evident on the paper, causing the ink to smudge.

Mickey quickly balled up the letter and threw it full force across his room. It landed next to his dresser, and he hefted himself up to retrieve it and placed it nicely back in the box before he grabbed out a third – the last for the night.

 

 _‘June 28_  

_Mickey take me home._

_I didn’t want to do it, but he shot one of my friends and I was ordered to do it. They said we would be safe. It was just supposed to be a friendly trip into town. The boy…he was young. Carl’s age. It was like killing my own brother._

_I’m so fucking scared._

_Please, just take me home. I don’t want to do this anymore._

_Love Ian.’_

 

Mickey didn’t care to read anymore, and he’d already promise himself to stop. He was terrified, and he never wanted to protect Ian more in his life.

∫∫∫

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mickey seemed to have made a habit of arriving at the Gallagher’s house at uncanny times in the night. “I always thought you hated me… For three fucking years you just let me think that I ruined _everything_!”

Ian was awake as always. He scampered to sit up when he’d hear the bedroom door shut with a crunch. It was harder than it should have been, since he didn’t have the ability to press his feet flat against the bed and use his legs for leverage as he meandered his body into another position. His arms pushed himself up as he moved over the bed to lean against the headboard. “Mickey?” he mumbled as he stared out. The unobscured moonlight illuminated their figures with ease. “Mandy told you then?”

He felt betrayed that his sister had known, and since he didn’t wish for Ian to know he was reading the letters, he went with it. “Yeah.” He scratched at the back of his neck and stared awkwardly at the redhead. “She did, and I wish she would’ve told me a long fucking time ago. Would’ve been nice to know you didn’t hate me. Would’ve saved a lot of heartache.” He kicked the nearest object – Ian’s dresser. “Fuck!” he exclaimed when he felt his toe scrunch.

Ian scooted over on the bed, leaving enough room for Mickey to join him. “I’m sorry. Thought it would make it easier on both of us. Clearly it didn’t.” Mickey looked back over at him with a softened expression. “You know now. That’s gotta count for something.”

“I guess,” he mumbled and plopped beside him. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed – he couldn’t _do_ this. “Ian…I need to go. I’m sorry. I’m not ready. I need… _time_. Time. Fuck.” No matter how much time he stayed away, he didn’t think he it would be enough. “I-I’m sorry.” He stood up and headed quickly towards the door, but froze as his hand hovered over the doorknob. “You know I love you, right? Don’t forget that okay.” He pushed the door open and left without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be much appreciated.  
> tumblr: captainjackfuckingbarakat


	5. I'm Desperate for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry this took so long. I kind of lost track of time.

Mickey, as usual, got drunk to solve his problems, and while Mandy went off to visit Ian, Mickey got out a bottle of Vodka to erase the same man from his memory. He drank consecutively until he was unsteady on his feet while walking to the kitchen for more booze. He ended up almost unconscious on the couch, nursing a beer as he slowed down for the night.

He’d gotten drunk with the intentions of forgetting about the stupid redhead that he couldn’t stop himself from visiting. It didn’t work though – go figure – and he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Ian meant more to him than he’d ever wanted.

Mickey was rested across the couch that was colored a sickly green, with his feet propped on the coffee table, and his body slunk down, close to slipping off. There were a couple of joints strewn on the carpeted floor – he’d aimed for the ashtray, but couldn’t be bothered to ensure that that was where they had landed. His pajamas had new holes in them where he’d burned out his cigarettes, and he occasionally picked at the charred cloth that surrounded the empty circles of the plain red pants. The taste of beer was sour on his tongue, but it was cheap, and that made it okay.

The door clicked as it was unlocked and Mandy wandered inside. “Mands!” Mickey shouted excitedly when he saw her slip her shoes off as she closed the door behind her. “How’s my firecrotch?” He didn’t stop himself from claiming Gallagher as his property. “He doesn’t hate me. The letters… they said he loved me. But I left. Fuck. Does he hate me now? Did I screw up?” He turned from nonchalant to freaking out in seconds.

“Jesus Mick, how much did you drink?” Her eyes scanned the floor and spotted the empty bottle of vodka and beer cans. “He didn’t say anything. Acted normal. Silent and unresponsive.” There was disappointment in her tone, but Mickey was too out of it to notice. She shuffled through the mesh of shit on the ground and attempted to scoot her brother into a sitting position. “If you’re so worried, go talk to him yourself.”

“I can’t Mands. I’m not ready. I’m never gonna be ready. He’s so different. I miss my Ian.” Mickey leaned heavily against Mandy’s shoulder as his eyes threatened to slip shut.

“Just sleep this off Mickey. We’ll talk when you’re not about to pass out.” He wanted to argue, because he only wished to get drunker, but she quickly disappeared – probably to her room – leaving Mickey to tip over on the couch with a groan. His room was too far away. His eyes zoned in on his door, and the dreaded distance from the couch to his bed. It didn’t seem worth it, since he’d probably just end up passed out on the floor if he attempted to move. He finished the small amount of liquid that settled at the bottom of the can and then let it slide to the carpet. He hefted his legs onto the couch and curled up. He cradled the picture of him and Ian that he’d found in the shoe box, and was soon passed out.

∫∫∫

Mickey attempted to mope the following day, and the sympathetic glances from his sister annoyed him to no end. “Just tell me what you’re thinking already,” he huffed as he peered at Mandy over his bowl of cereal.

“Nothing,” she held her hands up in defense at his snarky tone.

“I can tell you want to fucking say something, so just spill.”

“I think you should go see Ian again. I know that it’s hard for you, but hear me out. He misses you, and I think both of you would feel better if you just go see him.” Mandy took a deep breath once she finished speaking. Mickey raised his eyebrows as he chomped on his cereal, because with Mandy, there _had_ to be more. “ _And_ I might have told him you were gonna visit.” She paused, preparing herself for Mickey’s disapproval. “He looked so excited Mick.”

“Now why the fuck did you go and do a stupid thing like that?” He drained the milk in his bowl and let a burp escape, the taste of the liquid reentering his mouth. He pushed back the kitchen chair and it made a chilling noise as it scraped against the tile. He rinsed the bowl and abandoned it in the sink – it was just him and Mandy anymore, and when she was home, she attempted to keep the house clean(ish).

“Cause I was hoping it would get you to go. You can’t let him down.”

“Watch me.” Letting Ian down, it was nothing new. He flipped Mandy off and headed for his room, but she was hot on his heels. Mickey whipped around to confront her. “Mandy please.” He sounded vulnerable, and he hated for anyone to see him in such a situation. “I’m not ready. So you’ll just have to tell him I’m not coming. I don’t care if he’s disappointed. You’re the one that went and made a promise you can’t keep.”

Mandy gawked back at him dejectedly. “I promised him Mick… He needs you. It’s not my fault you’re such a pussy.” He swiftly disappeared back into his room, slamming the door harshly. Mandy must have gotten the message because she obediently left him alone.

Mickey fell back on his bed with a puff. Even he couldn’t understand why it was so fucking hard for him to just go see Ian; _be_ _there_ for him. Everything had changed. It had been three years and neither Mickey nor Ian were the same – he wasn’t quite ready for things to change, even if it was for the best. They had better odds now, with the one threatening terror in Mickey’s life behind bars and both of them nearly ready to own up to their feelings. Things were different, and _that_ was the scary part.

Mickey didn’t know how to provide support; he’d only been taught to push and shove until he was left empty handed. Ian deserved better. And maybe he was waiting for Ian’s perfect guy to swoop in, so he could no longer get hurt by Mickey. Life was never perfect though, and Mickey knew he couldn’t stay away.

He stood from his bed momentarily to grab a joint and the shoe box that contained Ian’s letters. He wasn’t ready to read anymore, but it was a comfort to hold the box, and he wished to skim through the pictures again – he knew it would hurt. Ian would never be the same; he changed for good the moment the nasty words had escaped Mickey’s lips.

Mickey lit the joint and reclined as he flicked through the pictures. He let the old ones fall away – the ones from _before_ Ian left – and held onto only the ones of Ian clad in his army get up. Even _that_ wasn’t Ian, he was still so innocent; not the man he’d gotten the letters from. It was the closest he would get through the pictures, until he was _really_ ready to face the man that stood in for the redhead that he’d always thought he’d known – he’d been wrong.

Mickey wasn’t the same either, flagged down by the years of hurt and guilt. He knew that if Ian ended up dead, it would be his fault. Ian was alive though, he had to remind himself. He appeared to have aged rapidly over the three years, and although he was only twenty-three, he felt like a fifty-year-old, and he was just so _tired_.

He took a drag off the joint and watched as the smoke floated up high, towards the dismantled smoke alarm that stayed silent, even as it sensed danger. Ian was dangerous, and the memory of him threatened to suffocate Mickey if he dared to droop to sleep again. Ian caused him a terror that he was sure was worse than Terry. Love, was the scariest thing.

But they were Ian and Mickey. Mickey and Ian. Gallagher and Milkovich. Persistent on their own, and unstoppable together. Like superheroes, off to save the world, but first, they’d need to save themselves.

∫∫∫

Mickey stood hesitantly at the Gallagher’s back door. It was midnight, and he’d placed himself outside for two hours, waiting for each light to go out. Once the house was dark and no stray voices sounded, he came out from hiding and crossed the street. He counted to ten as he prepared himself to enter.

One. _I can’t do this._

Two. _No really, I can’t._

Three. _Run._

Four. _You dumbass._

Five. _My feet won’t move._

Six. _Move before someone sees you._

Seven. _Why are you still here?_

Eight. _We’re doing this._

Nine. _Reach for the doorknob._

Ten. _Open the door._

And no matter how much his body protested his movements, he nudged himself inside, forcing himself past the magnetic push that threatened to throw him off course. It was a south pole pressing towards a south pole, repelling each other. He made it though, and ever so quietly clicked the door shut behind him. _Don’t make a sound._

He crept up the staircase, until he reached the top step, avoiding the squeaks on the stairs. _Relief_. He continued to propel himself past the repelling agent – _like poles repel_. Ian’s bedroom door was already cracked, and all he would have to do was push it open that little bit to squeeze his body inside. He was sure he couldn’t do it. Mickey was sure that the door opened on its own, but no, that was his own hand plastered to the wood, his own feet walking inside, and those were Ian’s green orbs slicing through the dark.

He feared if he let words escape his mouth, he would cry and then run in the opposite direction. He feared many things, and Ian was on the top of that list. Those green eyes reeled him in, until he stood beside the bed and glimpsed down upon him.

The bed looked welcoming as he gently settled his body down on top of the fluffy mattress – it felt like he was floating. Mickey peered back at Ian’s glowing eyes as he swung his legs onto the bed. He felt high, but the weed from the morning had long worn off; it was all natural. Ian’s body followed his, and soon, a head was rested on his chest and a hand tightly gripped his own.

They stayed silent, and Mickey’s army ever so slowly wrapped around the redhead. He held him tight, his hand shaking nervously. Ian terrified him.

“Stay the night?” The room remained quiet, aside from the brief interruption of Ian’s hoarse voice – Mandy said he wasn’t talking. Mickey knew that his own voice would only squeak if he dared to utilize his vocal chords. He nodded slowly – _scared_ – and allowed Ian to huddle close to him. They would be okay. Okay. _Okay_.

∫∫∫

Mickey was home long before anyone was awake, and Mandy was still resting on the Gallagher’s couch – he’d glanced in on her before he left. He was sure to say goodbye to Ian – silent, with a kiss to his cheek. He’d go back. The pull had changed, and instead of being forced away, he felt the need to go back, to see him again. Ian was better than him, and opposite poles attracted. Love was scary, but it was stronger than anything; something Mickey could no longer fight.

He was energized when he arrived home, because he’d actually slept while he’d been curled up with Ian – the first time he’d slept in weeks. He was sure that he’d never need to sleep _again_. Mickey wasted his time on video games, rather than something productive like _clean_ or make himself food. He would rather wait for Mandy to arrive and convince her to cook for him. He was hungry, yes, but it just wasn’t worth spending his newfound energy on.

Mandy plowed through the front door an hour later, and she appeared quite the opposite as Mickey felt. Tired and dead. “What’s up with you?” he questioned as she drug her feet over the threshold.

“Fuck off Mickey,” she snapped and kicked off her shoes, allowing them to carelessly fall beside the door. She trudged across the room and dropped next to Mickey. She yawned and her head fell softly to his shoulder. He turned the TV off and tossed the PS3 remote casually to the floor. He dragged Mandy in closer, and she fell apart, turning to ash in his hands. “He’s gonna get an infection. Fuck. The bandage hasn’t been changed in two weeks, and we’re supposed to clean it every other _day_. He just looks so pale and tired.” The moonlight had only allowed Mickey to catch his eyes shining bright; he hadn’t witnessed all the horrors his sister spoke of – he would have been terrified if he had. “I’m scared.” She seemed to shrink in his arms, molding into a small child once again. He held her together only with his two arms – it wouldn’t hold for long.

“He’s gonna be okay Mands. Ian is stubborn, but he’s also smart. Soon, he’ll stop being so difficult.” But it was a different Ian, so his reassurances might not hold true. “Just relax.”

“He needs you there.” Mandy picked at his shirt, tugging on threads, only causing it to fall apart even more. “I know you’re scared too, Mickey, but think about how terrified he must be. This is hard for everyone involved, and _you’re_ involved Mick.”

“I know,” he said quietly as he brushed a hand through her unwashed hair – she rarely spent time at home anymore. “A couple more days. I promise. I just need some time to think.” There it was again – _time time time_ – he knew there would never be enough, and soon, he would run out. “Wednesday Mandy. I’ll go Wednesday.” That gave him three whole days to collect himself – finish gathering the broken pieces Ian had scattered around when he’d walked out the door. The last time he would see the redhead balanced on his two feet.

“You should get some sleep Mandy. Maybe stay home for a couple of days. I know you care about him, but he has five siblings at home to take care of him. It will be okay if you take a few days to rest. Ian will understand.” Mickey sensed his sister’s reluctance, but slowly she was nodding. She clung to Mickey as she swung her legs on top of the couch and her head drifted to his lap.

“I’m scared,” she whispered again. Mickey gently glided his hand over her head and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“I know Mandy, but you’ll be okay.” Mandy didn’t seem to believe him, but a silence fell between them and there also seemed to settle an agreement.

∫∫∫

“Do I look okay?” Mandy fretted as she frantically ran a brush through her hair. It was Wednesday finally, and both Mickey and Mandy prepared themselves to appear in front of the injured Gallagher. Mandy had spent the majority of those three days asleep, and though bags were still fitted under her eyes, she looked much better.

“You look fine Mandy. And you know he won’t care.” He wouldn’t dare admit to Mandy that he too was nervous. He’d stayed up all night and had showered three times while Mandy slept, and he still didn’t feel cleansed enough to go see Ian. He was terrified that Ian would hate him for staying away so long. And while he wasn’t quite ready, he would have to be because time was up.

Mandy tossed the brush to the side and used her phone to examine her looks. “Okay!” she chirped. “Let’s go.” Mickey was given no time to complain before they were out the door. He was dragged by his hand, as if Mandy thought he might attempt to escape if she left him to his own devices. Maybe if she had let go, he would have run off. He wasn’t given a chance to find out.

She was bursting with excitement and he didn’t understand how she could be so _happy_ as they headed towards the Gallagher’s house. The sun beat down on them, and by the time they arrived at the house, he was a sweaty mess, even in just a tank top and jeans.

He allowed Mandy to knock at the door and she seemed to bounce as she waited. Lip answered and permitted them inside – he hated the way the oldest Gallagher boy ogled his sister, especially after he had hurt her so long ago. The other Gallagher-Milkovich pair had broken off shortly after Ian disappeared.

Mickey stood back in the living room as Mandy conversed with Lip and Fiona. Their hushed tones traveled far in the house, and he heard everything with ease. “We’ve gotta get that dressing changed,” Fiona sighed as she rested a hand on her hip. She looked stressed, everyone in the room did. It took a toll on them all. The news wasn’t anything new to the pair of Milkovich’s. “He won’t let anyone touch him, and he’s gonna get an infection if he doesn’t stop being so damn stubborn.”

Mickey was starting to doubt that Ian would come to his senses before something terrible happened. The Milkovich slipped away as the others were distracted by the condition Ian was in. He took the stairs quietly – the front staircase seemed to be void of tripping hazards and he made it to the top with fluency. He paused outside of the bedroom that somehow crammed in three Gallagher’s . He hesitated, although it wasn’t nearly as difficult as the previous time, to nudge the door open.

The door squeaked loudly, and the sound surely traveled to the other man in the room, although he reacted as if the room was still silent and he was still alone. Mickey took a moment to desperately collect himself. He coughed lightly, in attempt to draw Ian’s attention – clearly, he was as bad as Mandy had fretted, but he’d seemed fine when Mickey had visited previously. Of course, he had been a bit preoccupied with the bats that had pounded in his stomach.

“Hey.” Mickey’s voice cut through the tension in the room, and the air seemed to relax just at the sound of his voice. Ian’s body ever so slowly moved so that he was facing Mickey instead of the wall. “Sorry I disappeared so quickly on Sunday. I just…wasn’t ready.”

“Are you ready now?” Ian’s green eyes shined brightly with hope.

“No,” Mickey admitted. Ian’s face dropped quickly at the words. “But I’m never going to be ready. There’s no more time for me to push this to the side. I’m here now…” He couldn’t be sure for how long. Ian only nodded as his head flopped back onto his pillow and his fingers plucked at the case.

Even though Mickey was absolutely terrified, he rested next to Ian on the bed. He took the redhead’s hand in his own and paused the injured man’s fidgeting. His eyes immediately focused down, and the putrid carpet stared back at him menacingly. Ian placed pressure on his hand and he didn’t hesitate for a moment to squeeze back.

“So Mandy tells me you’ve been a total idiot lately.” He didn’t yet allow his eyes to change their focus to Ian’s deteriorating form looking deadly in the bed. “That’s gotta stop.”

The Gallagher tugged on his hand and a laugh escaped both of them as Mickey flopped back on the bed, with one of Ian’s arms trapped beneath him. “Good job idiot,” he chortled as he lifted his body to permit Ian’s arm to find freedom.

“Don’t leave,” Ian said rapidly and clung to Mickey.

“’Hey, chill. I’m staying right here.” _For now_. He knew he couldn’t stay forever without causing himself great pain. Mandy soon appeared in the doorway and eyed their tangled bodies and matching grins.

“Ian,” she called out. The redhead only hid his face in Mickey’s tank top. “Come on, we’ve gotta get that bandage changed.” At Ian’s silence, she looked hopelessly towards her brother.

He nodded back at her in understanding and combed his fingers through Ian’s thinning hair. “I’ll take care of it.” Mandy left with her brother’s reassurance and he only hoped she might drag Fiona or Lip - preferably Fiona - upstairs to help him out.

“Ian,” he whispered and tapped his shoulder with a soft finger. “She’s gone.” Ever so slowly, Ian brought his head up and stared at Mickey with red, teary eyes. “Let’s get your shirt off okay.” He spoke quietly, and Ian moved obediently for him. He nudged at Ian’s arms, and he lifted them high above his head, allowing Mickey to pull the faded forest green t-shirt over his head. Pale skin shined clearly, and his skin was covered by an ugly, beige bandage. “Okay,” he mumbled as he examined the bandage that wrapped tightly around his torso. “I don’t know what to do from here.” He felt helpless; he couldn’t do anything for Ian.

“Unwrap the bandage and clean his back.” Mickey jumped at the voice that sounded behind him. Lip held out a wet cloth and Mickey gave him a small nod of appreciation. “I’ll get a clean bandage.” And as quick as he’d appeared, he was gone again from the room.

“Ian,” Mickey spoke gently to grasp the attention that was lost with Lip’s presence. He found where the bandage was pinned down at the base of his spine and pulled it back slowly. It wrapped twice around his body, and required much teamwork from the two - it didn’t help that Ian had decided instead to be stubborn once more. “Come on, you have to cooperate.” He slowly pulled the bandage from his body - it stuck from weeks of sweat that had settled there - and adjusted Ian ever so gently as needed. The wound was soon revealed and Mickey’s breath caught in his throat. It had begun to heal, but Mickey could still see the stitches from surgery and the yellow and blue bruising which looked darker against his contrasting pale skin. His eyes froze there longer than necessary, and he felt suddenly sick. How could things be so bad without him ever noticing? He feared that things might have been worse than they’d seemed. Lip watched his hand gently flit over the raised flesh where the bullet had pierced through Ian’s skin, and Mickey failed to notice his reappearance. Mickey witnessed Ian stiffen and his hand flew away.

He lifted up the dribbling cloth that had already soaked through the blankets where it had rested. He glimpsed back at Lip and cleared his throat. “Can I get a dry cloth?” He did not want Ian to lie back in a soaked spot. And he could admit that he wished for Lip to disappear from the room, but he could not simply request the privacy.

Mickey lightly pressed the sopping washcloth to Ian’s back and kept the strokes over the delicate skin soft. Ian didn’t flinch this time, much to Mickey’s relief. The last thing he wished to do was harm him. “It’s okay. I can’t feel it.” It was as though he was capable of reading Mickey’s mind - it showed how well they knew each other. “Nothing below that point. I mean, I can kind of feel you touching me, but it’s pretty much numb. My legs ache sometimes, but you can’t hurt me that bad.” Mickey still didn’t apply much pressure to clean Ian’s wound - just to be safe.

“This looks gross,” he commented. It looked much worse than it should have been, surely from Ian’s disobedience to allow it to be cleaned regularly. The discolored skin reminded him of the fruits that were banged around a bit too much as the grocery bag was flung carelessly - damaged goods. He had recklessly allowed Ian to toss himself around and bring upon his fragile body bruises that should not have adorned the porcelain skin.

“I think I’m clean Mick.” His hand had ceased movement and he looked on with a sadness that overwhelmed him. This was all _his_ fault, something he could not forgive himself for. Ian did not deserve such careless harm that was due to Mickey. He would always hurt him.

He turned his head to once again find Lip waiting in the doorway, now with a dry towel gripped in his hands. The sandy-haired boy slowly stepped closer with his arm outstretched to Mickey liked a peace offering - no peace was to be had. The Milkovich tenderly took the towel from the other Gallagher and was careful to meticulously place it beneath Ian’s body. Droplets had slid from Ian’s back to the sheets below, and he did not want Ian to lie in a puddle of dampened cloth.

“Can you…” Mickey looked helplessly from Ian to Lip. “I need help...with the bandage.” His voice broke and it became harder to keep his emotions at bay. Mickey knew that Ian would cooperate with him, but he was scared that he wasn’t capable of doing it on his own. Lip didn’t hesitate to move closer, and no matter how much he hated Mickey, he was good to his brother.

The bandage was rested low on Ian’s back, covering the wound that sickened Mickey. Lip was cautious, not wanting to upset his brother, but Ian only glanced back occasionally at Mickey and in his eyes was complete trust. The wound was quickly bandaged, and Ian promptly ignored his brother - it must have killed Lip, and Mickey felt slight remorse.

“Got a few pills he needs to take. Just shit for pain and like depression or something.” Three pill bottles were passed to Mickey and he stared at them warily. Lip loitered around momentarily, before he left through the open door.

Mickey slid one pill out from each bottle and examined them carefully. One was small and circular, and seemed innocent enough. The second one was a capsule, and was colored blue. The last one was yellow and oval shaped, it was the largest. “They’ve got you on plenty of drugs, huh,” he chuckled - it was forced and sounded more like a cry. “Probably need some water.” He stood up slowly, careful not to shake the bed. Lip must have left a glass for him because he found one propped on the dresser between dirty socks and a broken clock. _Good thinking_. “Your brother says you’ve gotta take these.”

Ian rolled his eyes and faced his back to Mickey stubbornly. “Give me a pill that will make me walk again, or something to forget the last three years and I’ll take it, but I’m not touching that bullshit medicine.” Anger radiated from the redhead and his fists clenched and pounded against his immobile legs. “All of this is fucking bullshit.”

“Ian,” he sighed and carefully sat back on the bed. “Everyone is just trying to help you.” He’d read some of Ian’s letters, and he knew that things must have been horrible, although he knew that he’d never be capable of fully understanding. “Wouldn’t you rather _not_ hurt?” He gently reached out to Ian’s balled up fist and caressed it gently - he only wished to calm Ian.

“Fuck that,” he spat and dragged his hand away. He saw frustration as Ian appeared to attempt to move his legs on instinct. “The pain is the one thing that makes me feel _alive._ The meds just make me feel so damn tired, and I hate feeling so numb. The aching in my legs reminds me that they’re still _there_ , because sometimes it feels like they just disappeared. No one fucking understands.” Ian was right, Mickey definitely could never understand. He had full function of his legs and couldn’t imagine life without walking.

“Could you just take them, humor me? Your siblings want you to take them and so do the doctors. I think you should listen to them.” No, he couldn’t begin to understand, but surely, if the doctors thought it would be beneficial, Ian should listen to them.

“Will you shut up if I take them?” Mickey shrugged - he wouldn’t promise him anything. “Give them here.” He held his palm out for the pills, and Mickey gently set them on his skin. Ian dropped them on his tongue and grumpily took the water from him.

“Thank you.” He retrieved the glass from Ian as his throat flexed and the pills slid down his throat and rested the glass on the floor. He hoped he wouldn’t forget about it and knock it over. He moved himself back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around the Gallagher. He didn’t protest that time, but didn’t have much of a reaction. “Life sucks.” he was careful to avoid Ian’s bandage, and his hand rested on Ian’s burning skin. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Ian was eager to agree. “You did, but it doesn’t really matter now.” It didn’t, not really, but guilt still clouded Mickey and caused discontent. “You’re here, right?”

“I am.” He wouldn’t allow himself to leave again, not for too long anyways. “Ian.” He rubbed his clean hair against the back of the redhead’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up.” Ian didn’t sound cruel, just passive. “It’s behind us now.” And Mickey took that as the closest he would get to forgiveness, and he gladly accepted it.

“Thank you,” he commented softly and reached for Ian’s hand. “Things suck without you.”

Ian nodded slightly and slowly turned his body so that he was once again facing Mickey. “I missed you too.” His voice was barely audible and the Milkovich cherished his words. “It got pretty lonely.” Mickey recognized the dread that overcame the Gallagher, and that same loneliness had plagued Mickey for years. The loneliness had dragged him off and left him battered and bruised and _alone_.

“I’m glad you’re home.” He had fretted over and over that when Ian’s four years were up, it would not have been him coming home, but only a frail body. A breathing Ian was there though, and he continuously reminded himself that he was _alive_.

“Me too.” There wasn’t much left for them to say, and a comfortable silence blanketed them. Mickey hoped that Ian didn’t plan to leave again. It wasn’t as if he could move much anyways, but he still worried.

Ian yawned and rubbed at his eyes before he stretched his arms out. He seemed frustrated with the fact that his legs did not move with the stretch of the rest of his body. “I’m tired,” he whispered. “Can we sleep?”

“Course,” Mickey flashed him his brightest smile. “I promise, I’ll still be here when you wake.” Ian nodded absently and his head lolled slowly to Mickey’s chest. He rested there and slipped his eyes shut. It brought a chuckle past Mickey’s lips and he looked on fondly. Mickey firmly pressed his lips to Ian’s forehead; the redhead had already drifted off, and Mickey followed.

∫∫∫

“That was rough.” Mickey fell back on the couch and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He had stayed until Ian opened his eyes again, and was sure to say goodbye first. “He looked so…broken.” He hated to say it; of course, Ian was still _Ian_ , just…not the Ian he was familiar with.

“Yeah,” Mandy agreed with ease. “He’s changed a fucking lot.” Her eyes wandered to the floor and she tugged the sleeves of her thin jacket down past her knuckles. “How did it go?”

“Okay I guess,” he slumped his shoulders. He wasn’t really sure how things had gone. They’d talked, and stuff happened, but he couldn’t be sure that things were _good_.

“Did he talk to you? What am I saying, of course he did. He’s been excited to see you.” Mickey only shrugged and glanced away from her, towards the TV that showed only static – it was better than nothing. “Is that a no, or a yes? Because I really don’t know with you anymore.” He could remember a time when Mandy understood each of his expressions with ease. They no longer seemed to know each other.

“Yes.” His voice cracked and he bit hard at his lip. Things were bad, so fucking bad that he didn’t know how to do it anymore. He always came home from Ian’s followed by a horrible sense that he couldn’t do _anything_. “He talked, and took his pills, but…but he’s not okay Mandy. Nothing is _okay_.” It hurt to admit it aloud, but he had to tell someone that Ian was a fucking mess – everything was a mess.

Mandy gingerly sat beside him and leaned her body against him. “He’ll be okay. Just give it time.” There was that word again – _time_. He was sick of it. He didn’t hold much hope in Mandy’s words.

“He’s a mess. Everyone needs to stop fucking denying it. He is a _mess_.” Mickey articulated his words and shoved his naïve sister away from him. “You and Lip and fucking _Fiona_ and…and everyone! You all act like he’s fine. Like he’s not sitting in that bedroom slowly fucking _dying_. Well guess fucking what _?_ If you guys don’t snap into reality, you’re going to walk into that room to find a corpse replacing your best friend.” He bit roughly at his bottom lip and welcomed the taste of blood against the salty tears that dribbled from his cloudy eyes. He’d stood up at some point, and had flung his arms about wildly.

“Mick…” Mandy reached out to spread a comforting hand over his trembling shoulder as she followed his motions.

“No,” he snapped and shoved her back with as much strength as he could muster. “You all are making him worse. Fucking hurting _my_ Ian.” He ferociously pounded his finger to his own chest. “Stay the fuck away.” Mickey felt as though he had gone crazy – maybe he had; it would explain a lot. He hated to see Ian trapped, resting unsatisfied in a bed all day. He deserved better. That was on Mickey though, for running him off in the first place.

Mandy stared at him with wide eyes, the blue reminding him so much of their mother. Himself being his father in the scenario he’d written in his head. She turned quickly and vanished from the house.

Mickey was left alone; no Mandy or Ian to keep him company. No more family of his won. Broken. Just like the man that lay captured in his own twin-sized hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr: captainjackfuckingbarakat


	6. Broken Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit. I'm sorry this took like two months. This chapter isn't even that good cause I didn't edit it very much. But I finally had the motivation to type some tonight, and I wanted to just get it up before I lost my motivation. I hope everyone enjoys.

“You can’t walk,” Mickey mused randomly as he watched Ian sit still. “I mean, _obviously_. Everyone fucking knows by now. But like…you can but you can’t. Mandy…she said that like, physical therapy could help you.” There was a long pause as neither man could come up with the words to respond with. Mickey’s eyes flitted over Ian’s body.

It wasn’t the same Ian that had left him, nor was it the same man in the letters he’d hidden underneath his bed. He was so far from _Ian_ anymore. There had been those few moments of clarity, when Mickey was almost sure that Ian would come back to him, but those were fleeting.

Mickey had continued to visit Ian for a week – seven days that he hadn’t chickened out on. Fuck _time_. And each day he returned, Ian seemed to have floated farther away, as if he had forgotten to tether the rope to the dock that would hold him in place. They didn’t talk most of the time; Mandy told him not to worry, that he did that all the time, but he would always worry about the stupid redhead.

“You’re not even going to try?” He spat. Ian was faced away from him, so he was unable to see any reaction to the harshness; he hadn’t intended to be so loud. Mickey knocked his head back against the door he leaned against and let out a long sigh. _Don’t get mad. **Don’t** get **mad**._

Mickey uncrossed his arms and his fists clenched at his sides. Fucking Ian. “You’re just going to give _up_?” His voice caught in his throat and he had to force down tears. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel anymore. “When you wanted into WestPoint, you put in all your time and energy. You beat yourself up over your grades and worked out constantly. No, you didn’t get to WestPoint, but you joined the fucking _army_.” Nope, he was done; he couldn’t allow himself to relay Ian’s departure. But he desperately needed Ian to get his head out of his ass.

“You went to the _army_ , and left fucking everyone. I know you want to act tough all the damn time, but you can’t tell me that that was _easy_ for you. The Ian Gallagher that I fucking know–” _knew_ , he reminded himself “–would never give up so easily.” He only wanted some form of proof that Ian was still in front of him. “So what, you get shot. You’re fucking alive! That’s an accomplishment. So don’t start being stupid now.”

The silence returned and Mickey was left with nothing more to say. The lack of sound aggravated the man that leaned against the door, and he was tempted to scream, just so that some noise might fill the haunted space that enveloped them. “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.” The small, meek voice caught Mickey off guard, causing him to miss the actual words.

“What?” He stumbled forward in awe, and although Ian still didn’t face him, the sound of his voice felt like a step forward.

“Alive.” Ian didn’t say anything more for awhile, and his hands fumbled as he picked at the dirt that settled underneath his nails. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like…like I’m alive.” Mickey towered over the bed and the Gallagher appeared smaller as he slumped his shoulders in an attempt to hide from Mickey’s intimidation.

The Milkovich managed to snap himself from his pathetic daze. He rested himself beside Ian and ever so carefully rested his hand on top of Ian’s arm. He’d learned that Ian didn’t like being touched much, usually though, he didn’t mind Mickey’s gentle caresses. “Ian.”

Ian had clamped his eyes closed, and had broken out in a sweat. “I don’t want to be _here_. Everyone just expects so much of me. I can’t do it!”

Mickey was taken aback by the outburst. “Ian, we all just want what’s best for you.”

“And not once did you think to ask _me_. You all just assume shit. I don’t want to walk; I don’t want another thing thrown in my face that will only remind me that I fucked up my life!” Ian harshly shoved Mickey off. “I don’t want any of this.”

“Ian, calm do–”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mickey was quickly sent into silence – he hadn’t expected such an outburst from Ian. Not since he as usually so _quiet_. “If you’re going to stay in here just…just shut up.” Mickey wasn’t sure anymore if his presence was what was best for Ian, but he hadn’t quite been kicked out. He went to open his mouth but Ian was quick to shush him.

“Hey,” Mickey complained loudly. “Let me just get this one thing out, then we’ll go back to silence.” He paused a moment, searching for complaints from the redhead. “I’m sorry.” He said it slowly and unsurely – he was pretty sure he’d never apologized to anyone, not properly at least.

Slowly, Ian’s body shifted. It strained him to attempt to move, even with such an easy task. He made sounds of distress as he found it difficult to adjust his body. He finally gave up and allowed his body to flop down and he was slumped on his back. “I can’t do it,” he huffed out with disappointment.

“You want some help?” Mickey offered and reached out to touch Ian, aiding him onto his right side. “There, nothing to be ashamed of.” Ian quite disagreed. Mickey gently trailed a hand down Ian’s arm.

Mickey seated himself back on the bed and pulled Ian tightly to his chest. Just a he’d promised Ian, things quickly returned to the silence he had pleaded for. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it had been before, but tension remained amongst the room. Mickey refused to break it, allowing Ian to gloat in the quiet he seemed to enjoy so much. Mickey only hoped the spell might get broken soon.

Ian didn’t seem too compelled to speak though, as his eyelids drooped closed and his breathing softened. He appeared to have fallen asleep. There would be no need for talking.

∫∫∫

It was late, and Mickey and Ian were curled up tight together on Ian’s small bed. The Milkovich had begun to spend many night’s by Ian’s side, roughly shoving away his own fears. He would take care of Ian. The redhead cooperated when Mickey shoved meds in his face, and Mickey was the only one Ian allowed to have any physical contact with him.

_“I know it’s not fair,” he’d admitted. “I just can’t trust them like I trust you.”_

Mickey knew quite well how special he was to the middle Gallagher, and he cherished that. Whenever he saw the opportunity to bring a smile to Ian’s face, he leapt on it.

“When did you turn me into such a sap,” Mickey huffed out. He glanced over at Carl and Liam; each boy had earplugs secured to drown out any possible noises that might disturb their sleep – smart thinking. One of Mickey’s arms wrapped around Ian’s thin frame, while the other traced faint patterns on the hand he held with such delicacy. “This is so gay.”

“Well Mick,” Ian smirked defiantly and practically had Mickey salivating at the pure beauty, like the sun peering over the clouds on a lazy Sunday morning. “Last I checked, you _are_ gay.” Ian’s voice teased, and he poked Mickey roughly, but still playful. “Might as well act like it, huh?”

Mickey though quickly, creating an attack plan, one of the things he was best at. He moved his arms from around Ian without warning, causing the redhead to flop back from the loss of support, and a squeak to emit from his chapped lips. Mickey’s nimble fingers attacked Ian’s sides, still moving ever so carefully. Fingertips met the bare flesh of Ian’s abdomen, and they wiggled expertly, reaching the perfect spots that caused the redhead to drone in laughter.

Mickey adjusted his body, giving himself more leverage to mercilessly attack Ian with tickles. His knees bracketed Ian’s hips, while Ian’s hands reached out in an attempt to halt his attack. “M-M-ick-ey-y,” Ian squeaked.

“Is this gay enough for you?” He asked with an evil smirk toying on his lips. Mickey figured, with the way they both wriggled around, and how Ian’s smile _finally_ reached his eyes, that yes, it was definitely gay enough.

“Mick.” Ian whined and tried to fight him off. “Sto-o-o-p.” He dragged the word out for added effect. Mickey only ignored the complaints as he continued to dig his fingers into skin. “Mick.” Ian’s stern voice broke through Mickey’s playfulness and both of their smiles and giggles had dispersed. “You’re hurting my legs.” Mickey’s motions halted momentarily, and then he hopped off, with fearful curses muttered under his breath.

Mickey resumed his position pressed between Ian and the wall, and worry flooded over him. “Sorry,” he mumbled out awkwardly, ashamed of his foolishness. Mickey reached out and rubbed gentle circles into Ian’s thighs with a delicate press of his fingers. “You’ve got some feeling in your leg, that’s good, right?” He only wanted to take his thoughts off his own stupid mistakes.

Ian only lifted his shoulders and dropped them effortlessly. “That just means I’m always inn pain, always reminded that I’m fucking incapable.” A blank look spread across Ian’s face, and no laughter remained in either of them. “Don’t worry about it. The pain meds, they help a bit.”

“What’s all the noise?” a voice sounded and someone slowly approached the room. “Is everything okay Ian?” Fiona rubbed her eyes and entered the room. She wore little clothing, only a black shirt that fitted her body loosely, and Mickey really hoped there was underwear beneath. It was similar to the clothing Mandy skimped around in.

Mickey only witnessed few interactions between Ian and his family, and little words had come from Ian’s mouth each time. Now though, Ian shied away from her voice. Fiona only looked expectantly at Mickey, as though she’d expected that exact response from Ian. Mickey figured that over the four weeks he’d stayed firmly by Ian’s side, that he would have improved his relations with his family.

“Everything is fine.” Mickey nodded, and his eyes drifted towards Ian, who looked even smaller under Fiona’s stare. “Things just got a little out of hand. You should go back to bed.” Mickey had never been very fond of Ian’s siblings, except maybe Carl and Liam. But Fiona looked so tired and stressed out. He knew how hard it was for her, he suffered the same exhaustion.

Fiona nodded reluctantly and trudged back to leave the room. “Let me know if you guys need anything,” she offered and slowly turned her back, escaping her emotionless brother.

Ian didn’t remove his face from the hiding place against Mickey’s neck and his hands clutched desperately to his boyfriends green shirt. Mickey couldn’t understand it though, because she was Ian’s _family_. It was okay for Mickey to hate her, and the rest of them – natural, even – but Ian shouldn’t respond so sourly.

“She’s gone Ian.” He patted the redhead’s back and his face slowly reappeared, tears streaked over his cheeks. “You good now?” Mickey didn’t ask questions about why he’d responded in such a way, avoiding the subject mostly.

Ian let escape a long sigh and his head fell back to Mickey’s chest. “I’m exhausted,” he groaned. It was understandable; Ian hadn’t been sleeping nearly as much as he should have been.

“Sleep.” Mickey gave him a quick nod of approval, and not much else was needed. Soon Ian was a dead weight hanging off of Mickey.

The Milkovich swiftly passed his fingers through Ian’s thinning red hair that had only regained a portion of its original vibrance over the three months he’d been home. The same fingers that had attacked Ian with tickles and caused him _pain_. How could a rough Milkovich ever be gentle enough for someone like Ian?

The fact that he had returned to Ian took none of his fear away. It only added to it, as he witnessed Ian melt away as the burning sun sucked up his promising future and replaced it with pain and bullets.

∫∫∫

Each time Mickey walked into his home, he felt weaker than the last. Leaving Ian’s bedside caused a swelling in his chest that he would never understand – _that’s your heart Mickey_. His feet dragged behind him, and his shoes were dispensed across the living room floor. Mandy didn’t ask question, only carried on her merry way with the meal she prepared for two.

He didn’t speak to her; he didn’t need to. The same thing always occupied both of their minds. While Ian seemed to progress, he also seemed to leap backwards. Talking about it would not supply Ian the held he required.

Mickey only passed by her, with a silent agreement that she would bring food to him once it was ready. He hoped that she would leave him be for awhile though.

He entered his room, carefully shutting the door behind him, as quiet as possible. He bent his knees and crouched down to extend an arm into the abyss under his bed. He pushed aside dirty socks and forgotten dishes, until he discovered what he kept hidden at the very back, pressed against the wall smeared with liquid stains.

The pristine box that had once been used to hold something that one might consider more special than what now lay inside. To Mickey though, the dusty, expertly folded papers were a prized possession. A glimpse of an Ian he hadn’t gotten to know. He still hadn’t deciphered whether or not he _wanted_ to know that Ian; the one that had been taken away from him.

But still, Ian was Ian, and Mickey wished to know each and every part of his being.

Mickey lifted himself from the crowded floor and settled on his lumpy bed – he already missed his position beside Ian on his crowded twin bed. It was perfect for the two of them, and much better than stuck inside his lonely house. Mickey pulled the coarse string that kept the paper folded neatly. It fell to the side and the thick paper remained clutched between his fingers.

Crease by crease it was unfolded, until Mickey saw Ian’s rushed scrawl adorned across the page in black ink. It wasn’t the neat writing that Ian had once used, but it matched the other letters that he had been sent.

_‘Dear Mickey.’_

Those two words choked him up; it was how each letter started. Mickey only wished that he’d received them when they were originally sent. Maybe he would’ve written back, and there wouldn’t have been as much of a void while Ian had been overseas.

_‘Will you forgive me? I don’t think I can forgive myself._

_Have you ever killed anyone Mickey? I hope not. It’s horrible. I wish I didn’t have to do it. I wish I was home._

_My hands, they shake. I can’t sleep. Sometimes it’s too quiet, and sometimes, it’s just too loud. It’s dark at night. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, but now my imagination takes over. I fear that each sound is someone there to kill_ me _._

_The sergeant says I need to relax. I can’t. They say I look tired. I need sleep so that I don’t pass out. Then I’ll only die sooner._

_I see all these starving people, and it makes me not want to eat. We get so much more food than them. Why doesn’t anyone help? I want to help._

_When I get home Mickey, I’m going to change the world._

_-Love Ian_

_I still miss you.’_

The last words were an after though, written quickly before it was sent off. Maybe Ian had already forgotten who he was writing to.

Each of the words terrified Mickey. Reading Ian’s letter, Mickey felt himself thrown into Ian’s world in the words, and it brought upon him great pain.

Mickey knew that Ian could, and _would_ change the world. Even while he’d been so frightened; Ian worried about more than himself, always had. Ian had never been selfish.

Ian was so much better than Mickey. He’d always known that he didn’t deserve someone like Ian.

A knock sounded on his door and Mandy’s voice passed through his ears from the hallway. “I made eggs and potatoes. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Mickey responded quickly, folded the letter back up, and stuck it away in the box. He didn’t have time to hide the box before Mandy barged in. Her eyes fell upon the letters and glanced back at her brother with a look of pity.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Mandy sighed and passed Mickey the plate that overflowed with food – he’d been eating less, and clearly, Mandy noticed. She sat beside him, hand resting on his shoulder. “I wanted to throw mine away. It was scary to read what he’d gone through. Just wish we could have protected him.” Mickey nodded silently, agreeing with his sister.

“He’ll change the world, you know. He’s amazing. He’ll make a difference.” Ian would never cease to amaze him. Mickey pushed his food around on his plate and was given a disapproving glance. He wasn’t hungry, but he’d get hell if he didn’t eat something.

“He will,” he nodded. “Now tell him that so he knows that someone believes in him.” Mandy planted her feet against the floor and forced her body off the bed, the springs creaking as she moved. “Now eat. That plate better be cleared mister.”

Mickey chuckled softly, although, it was face as his mind was preoccupied. “Fuck off.”

∫∫∫

Mickey’s eyes were closed, and he sat with Ian in silence. It was early morning, and the sun shined brightly through the open window. It was halfway through July already, and the temperature outside proved it. Throughout the day, the sun scorched the air, and left everyone shielding themselves indoors. The Gallagher’s though, were crazy, and refused to turn their air condition on. It was hotter inside than out.

In the early morning though, a nice breeze floated though the open window and cooled the sweat that covered Mickey’s body and soaked through the sheets. Contrary to the heat that absorbed them. Mickey still pressed his body against Ian and brushed his finger through the redhead’s sweaty, sticky hair.

Ian remained asleep. The two had stayed up giggling about stupid stuff and Mickey’s time in jail. Mickey had yet to get any sleep and was startled by movement outside of the room – he didn’t understand why someone would be up so early, unless they hadn’t slept either. It was probably Debbie; he’d learned that she was an early riser.

Mickey had no wish to make any attempts to sleep, and stuck to watching the rise and fall of Ian’s chest. So calm. Whenever Ian was awake, Mickey would see the stress lines across his face. He always wished to smooth them away; sleep did that job for him.

The chirping of birds outside brought an odd calmness to Mickey. He could not remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed. No matter how much he loved Ian, things remained stressful for the Milkovich; sometimes he though he wouldn’t be able to make it. But he stuck by Ian, and things got easier ever so slowly.

Not long later, everyone was awake, including Ian. The redhead waited for Liam and Carl to skip from the room, before he looked up at Mickey and started to speak. “I’m hungry,” he complained. Mickey had caught the gurgling of Ian’s stomach, but figured he would be too stubborn to accept food. “Could you get me eggs, or waffles?” Ian groaned and slipped his eyes closed, his tongue sliding over his lower lip. It seemed his appetite was back after three long months.

“Water too,” he sputtered out and his mind continued to race with what he craved. “Juice! Something sweet.” Ian nodded eagerly and his green eyes quickly sparked with a hint of _Ian_. “Please Mickey. You’ll be the best boyfriend ever!”

“I though I already was.” Mickey could only smile at Ian’s newfound energy. It was the first time either of the had really defined the relationship, and he quite liked how the word _boyfriend_ sounded escaping Ian’s tender lips. Mickey let out a faux groan of complaint and made a show of trudging out of the small bed – they both seemed to be accustomed to the size.

“You owe me one.”

Ian’s tongue poked out between his lips and the sweet sound of laughter engulfed them. “Let’s face it, you’re my slave now. It’s just the small price that comes with being my boyfriend. The _best_ boyfriend.”

His middle finger shot up in response. “Is it now? Then I guess I better quit before you suck me in.” There would be no quitting though, and that same though passed through the mind of both men. Mickey smiled as he walked from the room and turned to rush down the stairs. He was in a much better mood than he’d been in a long fucking time – too long.

All eyes were stationed on Mickey, as he buried his head in the fridge. He pulled out the carton of eggs and continued on his hunt to find a fucking bowl. “Does no one fucking clean around here?” he huffed. It seemed all of the bowls were dirty.

“What’re you doing?” Debbie questioned. She sat at the kitchen table, carefully cutting up pieces of a pancake and plopping them in her mouth.

“Cooking. The fuck does it look like?” The redheaded girl lit up; she abandoned her plate of food to join Mickey in the small space trapped by counters.

“I’ll help,” she offered cheerily. She rinsed out the pan that she had used to make pancakes and set it back on the stove. She grabbed the eggs off of Mickey and took over for him – he wouldn’t want to cook anyways, right?

 _Wrong_. A red warning label flashed in Mickey’s mind – he needed to keep _calm_. “I got it,” he mumbled and tried to shove back into the space she’d overrun. He wanted to cook for Ian. He wanted to do something nice, and there Debbie was, seeming to think he was incapable.

“It’s okay Mickey. I’ll do it.” She smiled sweetly at him, and it was fucking repulsive. “Why don’t you go wait upstairs, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Mickey tensed, and his hands balled up in fists. “Get out of the way.” He was not in the mood to play nice – Ian was hungry and asked _Mickey_ to make him food. “I said I’ve got it.” But she didn’t seem to sense the danger and brushed him off with ease.

Mickey lashed out, and quickly, Debbie was pressed against the counter and Mickey was prepared to hit her or choke her or _something_. “I said I’d fucking do it!” Now she looked scared, and silence was all anyone heard for a moment.

“Ey,” Lip jumped up eventually. “Get off her.” He locked onto Mickey’s arm and pulled him back from his little sister. For once, he would take Mickey’s side. “Debbie, go finish eating your breakfast.” He let Mickey go as tension melted from his shoulders. Lip patted the Milkovich’s back and stepped away to allow him room to move. “You good?”

“Yeah.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair and looked to the pan. The eggs had burned during time unattended. He lifted the pan and dumped the useless food into the trash. So much for doing something nice for Ian.

He aggressively opened each door in search of plate, so that he could at least give Ian the two pancakes that no one had touched. Fiona paused him though, resting a tender hand on his shoulder and pulled him back from his attack on the cupboards.

“Mick,” she spoke softly, attempting to relax his outburst. He cringed at the use of the affectionate four letters off her lips. ‘Mick’ was a nickname reserved for those close to him, namely Ian and Mandy. From everyone else, it made him want to crush the word.

“Just take a breath.” Fiona rubbed circles gently into his shoulder and then reached into a cupboard that revealed a stack of plates. She pulled out a red, chipped plate and set it carefully on the counter. “What does Ian want?"

“Juice,” he mumbled, and he carefully allowed tension to slowly be released from his body. “He wants juice, eggs, and waffles.” Fiona nodded and started moving about the kitchen. Mickey didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing – he had let Ian down.

The eldest Gallagher plopped a pan onto the stove, and cracked three eggs into the sizzling pan. She manhandled Mickey so that he stood in front of the stove wielding a spatula. “Well,” she shrugged. “Get to work.”

Mickey looked back at her in amazement – was she really helping him out, helping to deplete his self pity? She only ignored the look he shot her and wandered away. Ian’s family would never cease to amaze him.

His mood lifted slowly as he scrambled the cooking eggs. He designed everything on a plate – things had to be _perfect_  for Ian, always perfect. Fiona gave him a small smile as he disappeared out of the room, and up the stairs.

“Got your food, your majesty,” Mickey teased as he traipsed back into the room. “We’ve got eggs, juice, and some cold pancakes.” He flopped beside Ian and placed the full plate in the redheads awaiting hands.

“Did you really make all of this?” Ian smiled at his boyfriend. “Thanks.” Ian lifted the fork and took small bites – it seemed as though there was way too much food there for just Ian.

“Well, I made the eggs and poured the juice, but the pancakes were already made. I didn’t really do much.” Ian’s eyes rolled at that, and he affectionately stroked Mickey’s arm. The brunette was too far away for Ian’s lips to reach his blushing cheeks.

“Don’t be an idiot. You made me some fucking delicious food. Thanks Mick.” The Milkovich brushed him off. Ian only at half of a pancake and a third of his eggs, but Mickey figured it was an improvement from the whole lot of nothing he usually ate. Mickey hadn’t been blind to Ian’s weight loss. He especially noticed the lack of muscle on the arms that curled around him at night. He wondered how Ian must have felt – he had always been doing some form of exercise, everything to prepare him for West Point.

Ian smiled wide and passed the plate off. “That was scrumptious. Thank you. I don’t think I can take another bite.” Ian eagerly drank the full glass of juice, shoving his pills down hi throat with a waterfall of sweet orange cascading over his taste buds. The glass wasn’t removed from his lips until it was empty, aside from the small amount he could not rid of.

“Yum,” he huffed out, chasing his breath as he gulped in air desperately. “I guess I was thirsty.” Mickey set the cup and plate on the floor, too lazy and enthralled by Ian to return them to the kitchen.

Ian smirked as he continued to breathe with heavy movements of his chest. His pink tongue peaked out, and licked away the sweetness that had stuck around above his lip, mingling with the hairs growing in – he really needed to shave.

Mickey eyed him carefully, soaking in each part of Ian that he’d miss _so_ much. “What?” the redhead chuckled, but with a dash of insecurity.

The Milkovich shook his head and forced his eyes away. Mickey shifted on the bed until he could pull his short legs up beside Ian. He scooted in close and allowed his boyfriends arms to mold around him. “I love your smile is all.” Mickey wanted to know when the held he’s started to say stuff like that – Ian had crazy affects on him.

Ian’s smile sparkled with appreciation. Mickey felt the sensation of slobbery lip mashing against his cheek and a frail hand caressed his hair. Mickey turned his head only slightly and their waiting lips cascaded together. He had missed the sweet press of lip, and he forgot why he’d ever protested kissing him before.

The kiss was deepened as Mickey’s tongue crept between the redhead’s lip, and his hand clutched at his neck. He took his time, memorizing each bump and curve of his mouth, until he was knocked out of the moment by a hand on his chest.

Ian’s lips glistened, and appeared plump and red. His breathes came back rasped, and he allowed himself only a moment to breath before he started to speak. “Mick. I-I-I can’t—” Ian didn’t allow himself to finish the statement and only motioned to his crotch in explanation.

“Woah woah woah,” Mickey sighed and held his hands out. “Do you think this is all about sex? Shit, that’s _definitely not_ what this is at all.”

“But…that’s all you used to want,” Ian mumbled without understanding.

“Yeah, and people change. I’ve finally dragged my head out of my ass and accepted that I have feelings for you. The _last_ thing I want to do is pressure you Ian. Your cock doesn’t work, so what?”

Ian wasn’t satisfied, and his hands reached towards Mickey, attempting to push away the sweatpants he’d worn to bed. “I can…I can still take care of you,” he mumbled and attempted to get to his cock.

Mickey huffed and batted his hands away. “What the fuck did I just say Ian? This is not about sex. This is about me giving a shit about you and wanting you to get better.”

Ian hesitantly accepted the answer, as soon as he deciphered that Mickey was serious. “Okay.” He dragged his hand away. Mickey wondered how on earth he’d gotten so lucky.


	7. Not a Chapter

I really love this fic. It's my favorite thing I've ever written. But right now I just wanna rip it all up and restart. I just can't get my head into. So I'm gonna have to take a break from it. Before it really turns to shit. I'm not sure how long it'll be. Hopefully not too long. I just need a bit of time to write something else for a bit. I promise I'll finish. This is a fic I will always come back to. But when I do come back to it, I will try to do so with a lot more prepared.

In the mean time, you can send me some prompts on my tumblr captainjackfuckingbarakat . I just need something so that I can get back into the writing flow


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